


Miles To Go Before We Sleep

by dramady, edonyx



Category: lambliff
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 03:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady, https://archiveofourown.org/users/edonyx/pseuds/edonyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I will take you home / It's not the first time, it's not the worst crime / Our souls will be okay</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smile Pretty for the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.

"So, what do you _do_ here?" It's Tommy's second time to the club, but this time, it isn't for a video shoot. It's for real, he and Adam are out together. After the kiss at the AMA's, yeah, okay, Tommy had never kissed a guy before, let's just get that out there. Not like _that_, at least. Let's just not talk about the part where, after the show, back at the hotel, Tommy had spent some serious time on his back on his bed, eyes screwed shut in silent shame that he's jerking off because of Adam. The way his mouth just kind of crashed into Tommy's had left him breathless and soft, stunned and wanting more. Wanting more what? He has no clue.

"We dance. Or we ... have a drink. Or we go back there." Adam nods toward the hallway in the back that takes them back to a series of doors that open up to small, dark rooms that smell, always, of sex. This is one of the clubs that he and Brad used to go to. Underground, dark with music that throbs against their skin. Tommy's small, pretty, not-so-straight, Adam suspects, and fits nicely right under his arm. "C'mon." He guides him to the bar and orders two Grey Goose martinis. The music is loud enough that he has to lean close, mouth pressed to Tommy's ear. "Do you like it?"

Just like that, Tommy's hard; it's the warm burr of Adam's voice against his skin, and for a flash of a second, he can picture Adam's teeth tugging his helix piercing, sucking his earlobe, whispering hard orders to him. Oh. He tips his martini back, quick as anything, and sets the glass on the bar. Okay, he knows, it's not a shot, but the burn of alcohol in his stomach distracts from the tight fire in his hips. He's not gay. He's barely even bi. Why this, now?

No answer? All right, then. Unless the downing of the martini is an answer, which it is. He raises a hand to get another one delivered and he easily wraps his hand around the back of the boy's neck, stroking the soft skin there as he looks around, feigning disinterest, hips rocking a little. They seem to bump against Tommy's every so often. What a coincidence.

Tommy keeps his head down, bobbing it to the beat, and it feels like Adam's hand is hot. Or maybe Tommy's neck is hot. Or the place is hot, _way_ hotter than it had been when it was filled with directors and extras. No biggie, he hasn't known Adam _that_ long, but they've hit it off really well. Tommy Likee. Christ. He tucks his bangs behind his ear and hazards a glance up at Adam, who looks cool and gorgeous and completely at ease here. "What's back there?" Upnodding at the same hallway Adam had pointed out. He knows what's back there, but Adam doesn't- he _wouldn't._ He wouldn't seduce Tommy, jeez.

It isn't seduction when both parties are willing. Or if it is, it's a game. It's ... fun. A tease. A game that Adam loves actually. Taught when he'd been with Brad, when, even though he was older, he was so much less sophisticated. "Back there?" He asks, following Tommy's gaze before he turns his chin to look down at him. "Playrooms." Tommy's new martini is delivered and Adam picks it up, holding it out for him to drink from.

Oh god. Everything just went gay and Tommy's not quite sure what to do. Then it hits him so hard that for a second, he has trouble focusing his eyes. Tommy leans forward, as good as gold, and catches his lower lip against the rim of the glass, waiting for Adam to pour. One moment, his eyes are on the olive, because that's safe, but then they flick up to Adam's, blue and black, the day lined with the night. _Say yes. Say... I'm good._

He _is_ good, and Adam's smile says that as he tips the glass up to let Tommy sip - not gulp - at the drink. It's good vodka for fuck's sake! When he sets the glass down, he runs his thumb along Tommy's lower lip, then that thumb is put into his own mouth and he licks at it, eyes never leaving Tommy's face. "Good."

It takes a second for Tommy's central nervous system to reboot before his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. He imagines he can taste Adam's skin. "What's happening? What are you doing to me?" It was a _curiosity_, that's all, and the shame that comes alongside wanting Adam this _bad_ only makes the rest of his body feel hot, too. "Are we going to play?"

"Do you want to play?" Adam asks, mimicking Tommy's tone. "I'm just spending time with my new friend." Who went nicely limp when he was kissed. Who doesn't mind having his ass grabbed. "If you say yes, that you want to play, there are some rules we have to agree on." Safe, sane and consensual, always. He leans in again, mouth a few millimeters from Tommy's mouth. "Do you want to play?" Throaty this time, just for the boy.

With his chin tucked down again, Tommy looks at Adam through his lashes, hands at his sides, fingers shaking. Then his eyes flutter closed, that dart of tongue again to dampen his mouth, a heavy swallow. "Yes please. I've never been fucked before, though. I thought I was- but." But. It's easy to see how Adam could make anyone question themselves. "What kind of rules, please?" Please? What?! Really? Think again, Tommy. Then speak. "I mean, what kind of rules... sir?"

Sir? One of Adam's eyebrows arches. Has sweet-faced Tommy played before? "What's your safeword?" He asks, finger tracing along the boy's jaw. "Hard limits? If you don't want to be fucked, there are _lots_ of things we can do instead." _I thought I was ... _ fucked? The idea makes Adam smirk. Seriously, he's so _pretty_.

Tommy might have never done this before, but he's not _dead_, Adam Lambert! He reads! He watches porn. He's a _guy_ and that's what guys do. Plus, fetish fashion? Yes please. "I never said no to that," he answers, all hasty and harshly, nervously turned on. "Hard limits?" Oh jeez, Adam expects a list? That's not fair. "I don't know. Normal stuff, I think?" And a safeword, too. Jeez, they should just be dancing instead, right? Or drinking? But Adam has his drink. "Rickenbacker? Is that good enough?" It feels like his blood's thundering through his veins in time to the music, pulsing off of Adam and back onto Tommy.

"Perfect. Mine's Zodiac. Come on." Normal stuff. Adorable! Adam has a martini in one hand, Tommy's hand in his other and he weaves his way through the press of people to that hallway, looking for an open door. Thankfully, there's one he tugs Tommy in first before following, closing and locking said door. It's a little quieter in there, but not much, the music more an echoed thrum than a pulse.

The martini is set down on a small round table next to the very utilitarian bed, next to the bowl of condoms and packets of lube. Smiling, he touches some before he turns around to face the boy. "What made you decide," he asks, "that you might be gay?" With each word, he takes a step closer so that when he's done, he's toe to toe with Tommy, looking down with a smile.

"I thought I was straight," Tommy starts, keeping his head down, his eyes closed. "I was just _curious_, you know? And now, and this, and you." He waves a helpless hand. "And I was thinking about the AMA's. And the video shoot. You touch me and you kiss me and you talk _right in my ear_ and it's not fair. And it just... feels right to _let_ you." He wonders how many pairs of shoes Adam has. It's such a fucking stupid thing to wonder, but he can't help it! He's looking at Adam's toes, right up against his.

"I talk in your ear so you can _hear_ me." Tommy's chin is tilted up. And even if the boy doesn't look at him, Adam's looking at Tommy. "You can let me do a lot of things, but if you want me to stop, all you say is 'Rickenbacker,'" which, yeah, is a mouthful, "and I stop. Say it, so I know you can."

"Rickenbacker," he parrots. It's his dream-bass, like Lemmy from Motorhead, or Cliff Burton when Metallica smoked metal riffs instead of corporate cock. "I've heard everything you've said within my earshot for the last two weeks. And you still get close. You do it on purpose." It comes out just a little bit surly, Adam Lambert making Tommy Ratliff question his sexuality. What's _that_ about? Maybe Adam'll get angry. His eyes flick up to meet the other man's.

Or maybe he'll find it kind of adorable. And cheeky. The challenge is there, though, in Tommy's eyes. That's what he wants? Adam can do that. He wraps a hand in Tommy's scarf, tugging, hard, so that he's on his tiptoes. Then they're nose to nose and Tommy can feel Adam's breath on his lips. "I do it on purpose. Is that what you wanted me to say? I've been telling everyone you're straight. And single. But you're here with me, aren't you? And you want to be."

Tommy's breath catches, lips parted and face surprised, and he stumbles for his balance for a moment. "Yeah. I think you do it on purpose." Holy god, if Adam were just a bit closer, he'd seriously consider grinding up against Adam's thigh. This is... _crazy._ This is _not_ real. "I'm single. And I'm here with you, because I want to be. S- sir." He breathes in the non-taste of vodka, a burn and cool at the same time. "I want to be."

"I know." With a shove, Adam lets Tommy go, watching him stagger backward. "Take off your clothes, slowly. Put on a show." He just has to take a step before he can sit in a small hard-backed chair, long legs splayed out wide to account for his erection. "I want to see your body." Tommy's tiny, lithe body. All of it.

Nodding, Tommy squares his jaw and throws his shoulders back. This is a performance, and he's used to performing. He brushes at his bangs a little, making sure they're in place, and glances toward the door where he can still hear the beat of the music. When Tommy turns back, he means to look at Adam's face, but instead, his gaze catches on the front of his pants, on the hard line of his cock. Chipped black-polished nails scratch down his own stomach, flattening out when they reach his hips, and then it's a slide up, showing an inch of skin at a time. It feels like he's panting. It feels like he's _high._ This isn't real.

That's life, though, the amazing moments; they don't feel real. Like when Adam kissed Tommy; not choreographed, caught up in the moment, in the way that Tommy just looked like he went soft as he waited. Adam's eyes, bright in the dark of the kohl, follow the strips of pale skin, his jaw pushed forward again. He wants. But he won't push. Let Tommy put on his show.

The muscles in Tommy's stomach move as he breathes in quick pants, and then he strips the shirt off over his head. Just the one, because what the _fuck._ He's stripping for Adam Lambert, but it isn't like he planned for this! Tattoos mark skin that's nearly as pale as his hair are shown when his hands come down again, dropping the shirt on the floor at his feet, and his fingers flick at his belt buckle. Anxiety comes in waves, alternating in hot competition with instinctive desire, and when Tommy pushes his pants down his hips, he knows Adam can see the damp spot on his shorts, just above where the head of his cock is.

"Fuck." When those pants end up around those ankles, Adam stands up, covering the distance in one and a half of his strides, where he can grab one of Tommy's wrists and pull him in and up, mouths meeting with a ferocity enough to bruise, his other hand sliding down the boy's back, right under the elastic of his boxer-briefs, cupping and kneading a pert, tight ass.

Defiant and cocky when Adam's not touching him, it's like Adam's mouth, his hands, his fucking _presence_ makes Tommy sort of feel like his joints aren't working properly, and once again, his hands fall uselessly to his sides, mouth opening against Adam's. For all the times he's wondered what it might be like, this is _not it._ It's a million times hotter, fiercer, more intense, and when Adam grabs his ass like that, the only reaction his body comes up with is to lift his hips against Adam's thigh. Tommy groans into Adam's mouth.

Perfect. Good. Good _boy_. (And yeah, Adam knows that Tommy's a few months older. Deal.) The boy's small enough that all Adam has to do is turn, and when he lets go, Tommy goes sprawling on the bed. It's easier that way, see, for Adam to pull his boots off, his socks too, then the pants come off. All there's left is Tommy's boxers, the jut of his cock obviously; it makes Adam's _mouth_ water. "Grab the headboard and don't let go until I tell you to." And with that said, he reaches for the top button of his shirt.

Tommy can hear blood rushing in his ears. That's what it is, right? Not his brain melting? Because he likes his brain, he _needs_ his brain, even though it feels a little bit like it's gone on vacation right now. Adam's smirk makes him hot; his sneer is powerful enough that Tommy can't look at him when he's making that face. Now, he can't look at Adam at all as his fingers close around the cheap wood. Don't let go. He can't look because Adam's taking his clothes off, and Tommy's not sure he could handle the look on Adam's face right now, no matter what it might be. "You've been dying to do this, haven't you." See? When Adam's not touching him, he can be tough. Sort of tough. The idea of making Adam angry flashes through him again.

That's beginning to become clear. Safety - relatively - in distance. Adam will give Tommy that. For now. His smirk deepens as he stares right back, watching Tommy look at him indirectly as he pulls his shirt from his pants, undoing it and letting it fall down his arms, catch briefly on his wrists before he tugs it away and over a chair. It's not sexy, but his boots take some work to get off and he bends to do that, but when he rises again, it's only halfway so he steps out of his boots and crawls onto the bed in a smooth movement. "Don't let go of the headboard," he warns, bending to graze his teeth along the inside of Tommy's thigh. Yeah, he's wanted to do this. Dying? That's a bit extreme.

Tommy's answer is little more than a _very_ undignified squeak, muscle jerking under Adam's mouth. "Okay. Okay. I won't, I promise." He can feel the reflective warmth of Adam's skin against his, and Tommy closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the pillow. Has _he_ ever wanted something this much? Is this what his first time had felt like? That sort of ripping, needy excitement that feels as though if it takes any longer, he'll embarrass himself. For a second, he almost laughs: he's almost thirty, and he's comparing this to something that happened half a life ago. But this is just as new, as scary and hot, and add to that, completely unfamiliar. He flexes his fingers against the headboard.

There are a series of small red marks along the inside of Tommy's thigh by the time Adam raises his head. Inhaling, he can _smell_ Tommy's arousal, how sharp it is, how musky. He doesn't touch, however, lowering his head again to breathe puffs of breath over the barely-visible line of hair that runs from the boy's belly button down. Then it's traced with his tongue.

It makes Tommy groan, and his neck arches. Adam can hear the pop of two of his knuckles as his hands squeeze the headboard-bars. He feels his cock jerk in his shorts, the groan ending in a hiccup when Adam's mouth is like, a handful of hair and a jerk of elastic and fabric away from being on his cock. Oh god. He'd _never_ do that, though, not when he's part of the biggest break of his life being in Adam's band, and Adam's doing this to _him._ "Thank you," he whispers, toes curled. "Sir."

Very nice. Adam give him a smile, resting his weight on one hand as he hooks a finger under the waistband of Tommy's briefs. So cute. Nothing fancy. Damp. Hiding an erection that Adam really wants to see. Lifting up the elastic, he ducks his head to peer in. Ooh. Tommy gets another grin and Adam asks, "do you want me to suck your cock?"

"Is that a trick question?" Tommy answers in a question of his own, because is Adam _serious?_ What guy _doesn't_ want to have his dick sucked? But he sees Adam's smile and the muscles in his stomach contract as he tries to keep his hips settled on the bed. "I'd really like that. Please. Thank you?" What would Adam look like if he was fucking Tommy? That's a question that's shoved away as quick as it's born.

It's not an unreasonable question. Besides, it's not like Adam goes around sucking everyone's cock. He's good at it, too, which probably isn't surprising. "I'll suck yours then you'll suck mine." Even still in his leather pants, Adam rears back on his knees, showing the Glambulge (a term that makes him seriously laugh). Tommy can see what he's getting into that way. Then he can reach for Tommy's undies, pulling them down (finally!) and away. "Shit, you're pretty."

He lifts his hips, nodding. Adam'll suck his cock, then he'll go down on Adam. Oh Christ. And again, his gaze is caught on the Glambulge, and the thought of Adam kneeling above him, fucking his mouth tears his eyes away, back up to Adam's face, and Tommy's face is burning again, across the bridge of his nose and touching the tops of his ears. "Thank you." A knee bends so, hesitantly, he can push the top of his foot against Adam's crotch.

"Cheeky. You can touch when I say you can." Adam pushes Tommy's foot away. The blush is nice; it shows that Tommy's not quite as sure as he makes himself sound. When their eyes meet, though, he smiles - doesn't smirk or sneer, but smiles - fingertips tracing over the curve of Tommy's cock. "I'm gonna make you feel _so_ good, baby. You have _no_ idea." with that, he bends and a second later, his tongue flicks out along the slit, and Adam gets his first taste; tangy, bitter, before holds Tommy's cock at the base and licks it in long broad swipes, slowly, teasing.

"Shit," Tommy groans between clenched teeth. Adam's in just as cool control here as he is when they perform, confident enough in himself that he can do whatever he wants and be a fucking star. Carefully, he lifts his head to look down at what Adam's doing. It's a _bad_ idea, and Tommy doesn't quite realize this in time, before his eyes focus on Adam's mouth, his tongue, how each lick feels like a string being pulled. "'course I've got no idea," he husks. "Never done this. Jeez."

Jeez. How adorable is that? (In a flash that's gone just as quickly, Adam is reminded of Kris. Anyway.) Adam grins again. He will make Tommy stop making those kinds of comments. And he'll do it like this. Palm against his balls, Adam sucks down on Tommy's cock. All the way down, right to where he can feel the head against the back of his throat, and he swallows then, before he starts to bob, hard and fast. His goal? Speechlessness.

The rungs creak when Tommy _yanks_ on them, surprised by the sudden dive of Adam's mouth. He's not supposed to move his hands, Adam had told him that much, and he's hanging onto that direction like it's a fucking life ring. Don't let go, don't let go. Tommy doesn't even know where to look now, at Adam's mouth, at his fingers on Tommy's skin, the wall, the ceiling? Should he listen to the music to distract him just a little bit? Little sounds are jerked out of him at every pull of Adam's mouth, every push of his tongue, and finally, Tommy just closes his eyes.

There. That's better. Adam slows down, then, to savor, you see, letting his teeth scrape up the length of Tommy's cock before flattening out his tongue as he bobs down. The boy has an awesome cock. His hand slides a little lower, finger rubbing at Tommy's hole as Adam's other hand flattens out on his chest, spanning it. Maybe, he thinks, he can feel Tommy's heart beat.

Tommy would be surprised if Adam _couldn't_ feel it, when it's beating like a hammer. He lets out a short sound that means to be an apology when his hips jerk up, an involuntary reaction to having someone's fingers that close to his ass. Close? Adam was _deliberately_ touching him there, and after a shuddery exhale - one, two three - his hips settle against the bed again. "Please do that again. I'm sorry." His words are slurred and indistinct, ending in a groan as stubby fingernails bite into the heels of his hands when he squeezes the headboard again.

That's _much_ better. Lifting his head, Adam makes sure that Tommy's looking at him when he licks his finger and that he's looking at him when Adam _rubs_ at that hole, pressing at it, nearly pushing inside, but not _quite_. "Is that what you want? You want me to fuck your ass?" Shit. The idea makes his cock twitch and he presses the heel of his other hand to his crotch for a moment of relief.

"_Jeez._" Tommy's toes curl again, because when Adam presses, it feels like there's a hundred billion nerve endings that decide to screech out a high E all at the same time. It makes his own cock jerk, leaking against hip where it feels hot-cool-damp now that Adam's using his mouth for talking instead of sucking. "Yes? Please?" If it means Adam'll keep rubbing. It feels like an itch under his skin, hot and aching to be stretched open. It's a good thing most of his rational brain is off; to think about the ease that Adam's done this with would scare the shit out of him.

"Good boy." There's a dark tinge to Adam's grin, then, a feral quality to it. He reaches for a sachet of lube and even as he's opening it, he bends down, wet kisses pressed along the length of Tommy's cock. He smears his fingers and this time, he doesn't rub again, he presses and can feel the tightness start, around the very tip of his finger, first, then up to his first knuckle just like that. The jut of Tommy's hip is too attractive and he nips at it to distract, even as he pushes into the second knuckle.

This time, Tommy _whines_, head thrown back again, muscles in his arms standing out as he grips the headboard. He feels his body tighten against the push of Adam's finger, and he makes himself breathe, relax as much as he can. But Adam is a _fucker_, biting him to send electricity shooting across his body, tightening him up again at exactly the same time he pushes his finger. It's weird, it's really, really weird, but somehow, there's promise behind it, promise that Tommy would never have guessed. Yeah, the curiosity came from the idea of, if two girls can get each other off that hard because they know how girl-bodies work, would it be the same with guys?

Apparently, yes.

"I just wanna be good at it," he rushes, just before his hips jerk up again. "I just wanna be good at it."

"You're already good at it," Adam tells him, voice a near-purr. And he's about to get better, honestly, because with a few more - just a little push - Adam should be able to crook his finger and hit right _there_. Not a trolley stop so much as a 'hey, come here.' And even as he's hitting Tommy's prostate, he rubs his hand over Tommy's cock, digging in a little right at the head to give him something to rut against.

"Ohmygodohmy_god_!" It's surprised, and one of Tommy's hands comes down to smack Adam's palm away from his dick, because if he starts rubbing up into it, he's not sure how to make himself stop. "Sorry." A helpless expression on his face, his fingers go back to where they were, where they were directed to be. Tommy's reasoning is right there in the wet streak across Adam's palm. "I just- I don't know what to do."

"Just lie there, baby," Adam soothes, hand wrapped around his cock, not moving. "Just lie there. You're so good. You're so _good_, okay?" And without warning, he pushes his finger in the rest of the way and starts to thrust it. "Don't let go of the headboard." Shit, Tommy's _tight_ and hot around his finger and it makes him _want_. It's been weeks! Shit. Even before he and Drake broke up, it'd been a while. So this is gonna feel _amazing_.

Tommy nods, biting back his sounds, knees falling to the sides and heels digging into the mattress with a squeak of springs. "Huh. How long?" Adam's hand is around his cock, his finger in Tommy's ass, and there's a throb of pulse there that Adam can feel with both of his hands. The pound of blood, of desire and want and _need_, even if Tommy can't consciously realize it yet. Sweat makes the hollow of his throat shine, makes Tommy's collarbones stand out.

"You're not ready yet." Tommy hasn't seen Adam's cock yet, but he will. But if he's going to be impatient? That tells Adam he can move faster, though not more recklessly. He works that one finger for a little bit more, then adds another. After that, another. He teases Tommy's cock, not letting him get too close to coming. So, finally, even though that's not really enough, Adam pulls free and leans back. "Don't move." The arch of his brow tells Tommy that he's not kidding. Getting to his feet, he finally strips off his pants and his boxers and that's when Tommy gets the first view of Adam's cock, all nine inches of it as he walks over to get a condom and put it on.

Don't move? No problem. Tommy's not even sure that he can breathe properly at this point, feeling wide open in completely strange ways, feeling hot and tight, scared. That is going to be in him. _That._ And he'd been wondering what Adam would look like _if_ they fucked, and here it is. Tommy's breath stutters out, watching Adam's fingers slide down the length of his cock, rolling the condom on. Okay, yeah. He wants it. "Yes, sir."

"You'll suck my cock another time," Adam decides, seeing as he's got the rubber on already. He knees his way onto the bed, tugging Tommy's hips up so he can rub his dick against that slick hole and he smirks this time. "Remember to breathe, okay? It'll feel a little tight, but just breathe; your body will loosen up around me, I promise." And with that, he takes a deep breath of his own and starts to push in.

Hold onto the headboard. Breathe. Suck his cock another time. Okay, Tommy would say, but all he can do is nod, caught like wildlife in that headlight-smirk. It goes from hot to tight to _ouch_, and Tommy turns his head to the side to hide his face against his arm. Breathe, his body will loosen up. Breathe, it'll feel so good. One of Tommy's legs comes up, the heel of his foot brushing against Adam's hip.

"Easy." Instead of one long thrust, Adam uses small ones, hand around his cock as he works him open. He watches that this time, how Tommy's body takes him in a little at a time, instead of his face. Humming a bit under his breath, he rocks his hips. It makes him, oddly enough, think about Bowie, so that's what he's humming.

Adam's looking down and Tommy's face is hidden, and he asks, blurry, "How does it look? How does it feel?" Is it good? Adam's humming _Bowie_ for Chrissake; Tommy admires his cool, when he feels like he's on fire, himself. It makes his skin feel tight, hands fisted, toes curled, body arched tensely upward, and for a second, when Adam pushes a little more, he wonders if his dick was hard before, when it hurt. If it wasn't then, it is now, suddenly, almost painfully, like a cramp, or brainfreeze after a visit to 7-11 in the middle of the night. "Ah-!"

"Good boy." Adam pulls Tommy's legs up his chest and wraps one arm around them so that his other hand can take Tommy's cock again, pulling on it as he rocks in deeper. "It looks amazing and feels so good. You're so hot and _tight_." He's nearly the all the way in now and it feels like it's been ages; his lower back aches with the dammed-up desire to push. "Gonna fuck you good, baby. Make you come so _hard_."

Tommy lets go of the headboard without even thinking about it, but it's to stuff his hands under his head beneath the pillow, fist his fingers in something that'll give, instead of hard wood. He keens in his throat, pushing up into Adam's hand, then down onto his cock. "I don't know," he mouths. "I don't know, I don't know." How it can feel like this, how he made the decision to do this in the first place, how the balance can shift so sharply between one sensation and another.

What feels like hours later, but is probably only minutes, Adam feels his hips slap against Tommy's and with that, he can start long, full strokes and with that, his head rolls back on his neck and his eyes fall closed and he just ... fucks. And it feels _fantastic_. It feels _so good_ that he moans, a sound tight in his throat as a rhythm that feels steady and right takes over. Primal. And good.

It makes Tommy breath in long gasps and groans, arching up under Adam once it feels like the control goes from just Adam to evened out between them, and he pulls his legs down from Adam's chest to wrap them around his waist instead. When he tightens them, it pulls Adam in further, and his groan turns into a cry. "Harder," he keens. "Please, please. Harder."

"Fuck, yes." With a groan, Adam falls forward, bracing his upper body on his hands and he _snaps_ his hips in and doesn't stop when he feels and hears that slap of skin against skin. Somewhere in the back of his brain, he realizes that Tommy's going to have a hell of a time walking tomorrow, but that's the end of that thought too. Instead, Adam just _moves_ and the heat that comes with it tinges his skin pink and draws beads of sweat at his hairline. "Shit, you feel good," he rasps out.

"Please-can-I-touch-you?" Tommy tries, because it feels a little bit like he's going to come, except it's in all the wrong places. Not even wrong, really, just _different_, tight and intense, more in the small of his back than pooled hot in his guts. He's probably a mess, all smeary eyeliner and sweat-stuck hair, but at this point, Tommy can't bring himself to care, nor can he look away from the look on Adam's face. He wants to lick the sweat from his skin.

Pausing just for a half a second, Adam then nods. This isn't about control anymore, anyway. This is about feeling _really good_. And by shifting a little more, by drawing Tommy's leg up his hip, Adam can bend lower, onto his elbow, and lick his way back into Tommy's mouth, breathing in his sounds and replacing them with his own.

The moment that Adam nods, Tommy's hands are out from under the pillow, clawing down Adam's back to grab his ass and _haul_ him in, pull him closer, trapping his cock between them. "Fuck me," he breathes into Adam's mouth. "Yes, yeah, _yeah._" He's so close that everything's tight and tense, his kisses greedy and hands grabby. _I'm gonna come_, he thinks, but can't say. Adam's tongue is in his mouth, his cock in Tommy's body in unrelenting, sick friction. _I'm gonna come._ When it happens, his clench is so tight that it _hurts_, and it makes the rest feel that much more intense.

"Oh, _shit_!" When that tight clamps down around him, Adam can't even help it. He fucks in harder and doesn't stop until he comes too, feeling it from the base of his skull, down his spine and even in his toes that curl in the bed as he milks all of it that he can, eyes slitted in pleasure. There's nothing recognizable that comes from his mouth, just sounds - oohs and awws - as he slows. Gradually, though, he can gasp out, "holy shit, you embraced the gay."

Tommy goes completely limp under Adam, hands falling to the bed, knees falling to the sides, slithery and loose. "I don't even know what that was." Even now, his words are unsteady and broken, and it takes a minute to blink his eyes open and look at Adam. "My ass hurts." Because he's never done this before. Because he's _not_ gay. "Move. Please?" He felt _all_ of it, the grip of his body around Adam, and then following that, the jerk of Adam's cock inside him. _Now_ he's starting to panic. "I gotta rock a piss, okay?"

"I was - fuck." Adam was moving when Tommy said that. Holding the condom on, he pulls out, rolls to his back (ninja-roll! Only not) and peels it off, flicking it in the trash before setting back, an arm under his head, the other on his stomach. "The bathrooms are in the hallway here." Which means Tommy will need to get dressed. He asks, belatedly, "are you okay? I mean ... " He goes for flip and light and isn't sure he gets there. "This didn't have to mean anything, you know."

He's answered with a shake of Tommy's head, not a definite no, but a motion that he needs a second to himself. Tommy stumbles into his pants, wincing when he buttons them around his hips, _ouch_, and he slips through the door and into the hallway. The rooms don't have bathrooms? What the fuck is that? Are these people against privacy? He locks himself in one of the stalls, shucking his pants down to his ankles again, because _ho damn_, he's sore. And he can think about what just happened. He knows he has to go back to the room; his shirt's still there, Adam's still there. _This didn't have to mean anything._

But by the time he gets back, Adam is entirely dressed, hunched over to look into the small mirror on the wall so he can fix his smeared eyeliner and his hair. By dressing, putting himself back together, he can, he thinks, pull himself back together. _It's not the first time, it's not the worst time_, right? _Your soul will be okay_. Tommy's shirt is on the edge of the bed, his boots and socks there as well. Adam won't leave Tommy here, but it's clear that something got fucked up. Or fucked. You know. Six of one ....

Tommy sneaks back into the room, it feels like, barefoot and bare-chested, head down and shoulders up around his ears, looking pretty ashamed for running like he's been burned. "Hi." He's careful to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for his shirt first, then his socks. "How much am I gonna hurt tomorrow?"

"Ummm." Wincing a little in sympathy, Adam looks at Tommy through the mirror. "Probably a lot. Sorry." Gone is the Big Bad Dom thing and here's the Adam that Tommy met at auditions. He turns, arms folding across his chest. "... are we okay?"

His head bobs in a nod, and Tommy glances lightning-quick at the mirror to fix his hair, combing his bangs over to the side. "'kay. Thanks for the warning." He shoves his feet into his boots and gets to his feet, looking at Adam. "Yeah. We're okay." Tommy's not so sure that _he's_ okay, but he's not going to let something like this get between his friendship with Adam or being in his band. "Do you, uh. Wanna go? Or what happens now?"

"Are you lying to me?" Come on. Adam might feel like he's face-planted into a bad idea, but he's not one to shy away from it. He walks over, stopping about a foot away from where Tommy stands looking small and yes, he looks fucked out and gorgeous, still. "C'mere." Not for anything kinky or anything like that, but to fold him into his arms, his cheek resting against his fluffy hair.

Tommy's arms end up around Adam's waist, face pressed to his neck. "No, I'm not lying to you. We're fine, okay? It's alright." It's strange to touch Adam with clothes on, when not that long ago, he'd left eight scratches down Adam's bare back before - before they'd -

"Don't tell anyone, okay?" With his head lifted just enough that he can talk in Adam's ear, just as Adam talks to him. "Just... this is between you and me." Is, not was. What's current, not what just happened. "I just don't know what to do yet. And my legs hurt. And my ass." It's obvious he's trying to be casual, make it nothing, but his body language and the way he hasn't moved away from Adam yet say otherwise. "You want to get a beer?"

"I don't like beer." There's a warm martini over on the table, but Adam doesn't move either, rubbing a hand up and down Tommy's back. It's like they're sharing secrets, talking in hushed tones even though no one can hear them. He won't tell; as if he kisses - or fucks - and tells anyway! Please. "... you want to go to my place? I have that whirlpool tub thing. Or ... " And finally, he leans back just enough to see Tommy's face. "Or I can take you home."

Tommy nods before Adam finishes what he says. "Your place," he decides. At least the whirlpool sounds awesome, and maybe he can figure out what's going on in his head regarding one Adam Lambert, who he just had _insane_ sex with. "Beer's not that bad, by the way. It's _really_ good when... after... you know." Again, Tommy doesn't lift his chin to look up at Adam, but he's watching the singer from beneath the fringe of his lashes. The motion of Adam's hand makes him feel oddly like purring. It's comforting. "Yeah, your place."

"Okay." Turning, hand splayed in the small of Tommy's back, Adam opens the door. "Beer's good after sex?" He says sounding as surprised as he is. Who knew? All he knows is that it tastes bad. "I actually prefer Drambuie." They walk down the hallway, through the club, and Adam's hand never leaves Tommy's back.


	2. A Little Night Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I like having people over, I like visiting...

Adam slouches low in his chair on his back patio, feet up on the little table next to the empty glasses. His head rests on the chairback and he stares up at the haze in the air and the stars beyond it as he passes the last of the roach over to Tommy. "I ... think I'm a little bit stoned and a little bit drunk." His smile is in his voice. Yeah, that wasn't a complaint. Cassidy just left an hour ago and he was the last straggler, leaving only Tommy.

"I am _completely_ drunk, and just a little bit stoned. Where do you get your shit?" Tommy holds the roach puffing quick one-two-three and exhaling in a stutter that shows he's trying not to cough. Tough guy can smoke up! "You have fun tonight?" He curls an arm under his head, knees spread, slouched low in his seat. He likes the dark. It's safe and private, and means that now that he and Adam are alone for the first time since... _that_... then Tommy doesn't have to look at Adam. It makes it easier.

"I had so much fun tonight." Adam's smile gets wider. "I have a ... a quote-friend-unquote? Who knows a guy." And he cracks himself up. Adam Lambert! Super-spy! Oh, shit. He's laughing hard enough to pull a leg up to his chest. "I - shit! - I can't even buy my own pot anymore! This is my life! Oh, shit. Did you see the corset Lisa had on? She looked good!" Okay, so maybe he's a _little more_ than a little fucked up. Because in his head, Lisa's boobs and sooper-sekrit pot connections are related!

Definitely being stoned and/or shitcanned helps, too, because Tommy's agreeing, fumbling in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and his Zippo. "Her tits are _amazing._ I even think they're real, which makes it even more ridiculous. I think she got it from Lady Beware. Your life, so hard! Christ, Adam." Tommy looks around for where he set his beer, finding it by the foot of his chair. Hey! Still cold! Well, cold-ish, but that's better than full-out warm. Ugh, pissbeer. Bad, man. So bad. He takes a swig, resting the cool bottom of the bottle on his thigh. "If it's that big a deal, going through a-friend-who-knows-a-friend or whatever? I can score you some. Might not be as good as this, but." He turns his head toward Adam, beckoning for the joint again. "You gonna be nice and give me the kill on this thing?"

Adam hands it over without comment on that. "I don't know what of what you said to respond to first," he says instead. "That you know where Lisa buys her clothes, which makes me imagine you in drag, by the way, or that you offer to buy me less-than-stellar pot? I mean, I love you, but I really love this pot. So. God, I love the nights where you can see the stars mostly, you know?" Vaguely, his finger traces the line between them. "I love living here."

"You do _not_ love me. You barely know me." Tommy arches his back so he can belch, full-bass and long. _Nice._ "I _shop_ with her, are you nuts? She drags me along because I'm single - which means no girlfriend that'll freak out - and I have _amazing_ taste in women's clothes, I'll have you know." He looks up at the sky. "You did drag. Do you have like, drag-fu?" This is what he knows, this is what he's comfortable with. This is Adam in rehearsal, cool and funny and gloriously high. "Living in LA means that we can be glam as fuck and nobody'll care. It's about time."

"Drag-fu? What is drag-fu? Like I can make you look good in drag? Which I totally could, in case you were curious. You're perfect for drag, so teeny. And," Adam says, finger jabbing the air emphatically. "I would appreciate it if you would refrain from telling me how I do or do not feel. I am ... I know how I feel. Which right now is _so_ high and so drunk, phew." With a push at the arms of his chair, he gets to his feet and only sways a little bit as he heads for the sliding glass doors that lead inside. "I think there are brownies still left. I want brownies. Are you coming?"

"Are they pot brownies? Please tell me they're pot brownies. I need some serious baked goods on my beer, otherwise I'm going to feel like the ass-end of a cow in the morning." It takes a couple of tries, heave-ho!, before Tommy's on his feet, following Adam inside. "Man, I've done the lipstick thing before, no biggie, right?" He strikes a pose against the counter, one hand above his head, a bright, loose grin on his face. "I have the figure of a supermodel. Love _that,_ fucker."

"Bitch." Adam gets a hold of Tommy's jaw, holding in place. "Sexy as fuck." He's moving in to kiss even before he realizes it. WHOOPS. With the arch of a brow, he manages to change his trajectory and not even fall over. "Cassidy made the brownies; they could very well be pot brownies. Here." They are, conveniently, behind Tommy, so Adam scoops one up and offers it up instead.

It started last time with a martini. Now it's a brownie, and Adam's hand is holding Tommy's jaw. _Again?_ he almost asks, and his smile curls at the sides. Again, if that's what Adam wants, and Tommy already knows he won't say no. He nips a bite out of the corner of the brownie. "Oh yeah." After a moment of chewing. "They taste pretty bad, so they're probably green." There's a pitch of disquiet to Tommy's voice now, from Adam calling him a bitch, for calling him sexy. Again. It's happening again.

Hey, Tommy called Adam a fucker, so turnabout is fair play. But yes, Adam isn't that trashed that he can't see Tommy go all weird on him. Fuck it. He takes the brownie with him as he wanders in a less-than-straight line toward his living room and the big sofa that he can tumble onto on his back. There's even still something of a fire in the fireplace. He eats the brownie in little bites. Mmm, chocolate.

Oh thank god, Tommy was just reading it wrong. "How sick are they?" The brownies don't taste _disgusting_, but there's something weird that makes it taste like those dollar-store chocolate coins. "I'm totally putting away enough of this pan that I can read the numbers on my cell. Then I'm calling a cab and leaving you to your fuckin' excess, Lambert." Adam gets a swat to the head.

"Um, ow? What the fuck." Adam kicks out a foot, trying to catch Tommy's hip. "Why are you being so mean to me? What did I do to you?" A pause. "Aside from fuck you so good you probably jerk off about it, still." Ha! _Ha_. "Is that why you're acting so weird?"

No way. Adam did _not_ just say that. If he did, then hey, lookit this! Tommy's speechless for a second. Then he stammers a couple of sounds that are kind of a combination of trying to sound like a smartass and brush it off, but, well, failing. Completely. "I'm not being mean to you. I meant to just kind of give you five across the eyes and whapped you instead." It'd be nice if he could feel anything below his scalp, too, at this point. Smoking left his brain fuzzy, but eating the brownies makes his body tingle, and let's not forget the beer! "So what if I do?" he asks, making sure his arms and legs are securely in the cart. Because he's afraid he might end up going for a ride. _Boof._ Right in the hip, right where Adam meant for it to land. "Don't _kick_ me for it."

"I kicked you because you hit me. You were aiming for my _eyes_. Which is very uncool. It's overcompensating for wanting me and for feeling _conflicted_ because you want me and you're straight - bi - straight. Whatever it is you are that isn't gay." Adam curls into the couch, closing his eyes. "Rock and roll is a hooker that needs to be tarted up, but heaven forbid that you acknowledge that you're gay. Or gay-leaning. Or whatever it is you don't want to be."

"Oh, fuck you." Tommy gets up and moves to the chair, flopping down with a sullen sigh. "I don't know _what_ I am, or what the fuck is going on, or what you're doing to me or making me feel. I don't _know._" He looks toward the door, toward the patio where ten minutes ago, they could see the stars and they weren't talking about _this._ "So what do I do? You get near me and my brain shuts off. And I fuckin' want you. Is that what you want me to say?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is." Adam pushes himself back and up to where he's sitting again, feet on the floor as he faces Tommy, looking far more sober than he feels. "Was that so hard?" His desire for brownies is forgotten, replaced by another, more primal desire. "You don't need to call a cab. You can stay here tonight. You can be my excess." And with that, he holds out a hand, beckoning.

Just like that, Tommy's caught again. Five words, that's all it took. _You can be my excess._ He finds himself nodding like a puppet with its strings cut. It doesn't mean he's _gay_, right? Or barely even bi. He jokes with his buddies, sick jokes that only guys get, and his curiosity's come to a screeching halt. It begins, he's found, and ends with Adam. He takes Adam's hand. _Lead me._

He's led upstairs, into Adam's bedroom, the door shut behind them, and to the big, wide bed. The covers weren't even made from the morning, so it's super-easy to climb in and pull Tommy down and close and _kiss_ him, hands cradling his face. He tastes of beer, bleh, but under that, he tastes of, well, Tommy, and Adam finds he really likes that taste, lapping it from his tongue.

Adam tastes like fruity whatever-he-was-drinking, and once again, before Tommy can put any proper thought into it, Adam's got him on the bed and he's opening his mouth against Adam's tongue. Their clothes are still on - for now - but Tommy cups the side of Adam's face, tilting just a little that suddenly, the kiss is _right_, and they _fit_, and he's dizzy. He's drunk. He's been eating pot brownies. He's been smoking up outside with Adam. He's wrecked; he's hard. It's going to happen again and he wants it to.

As fucked up as they both are, Adam knows that they can go a _really_, really long time and not come. That knowledge makes him smile and think of cock-rings - not just for jewelry! All he's wearing tonight is a t-shirt and jeans and those come off so easily, like shedding a skin. Tommy's too. Off as if they were meant to be naked! Warm skin against warm skin, Adam's erection against Tommy's hip. "You owe me a blow job," he blurs against his neck, the pulse there, where he kisses.

The feel of it makes Tommy's breath catch, make his fingertips dig against Adam's bicep. "I don't know how." His own voice is all indistinct, like he's half asleep, dreaming. "And I don't know if I can, uh. Swallow." The buzz of being drunk is beginning to wear away at Tommy's not-gay, and he tips his head to the side, sliding his hand into Adam's hair. "But I can try. If you want me to." If Adam tells him that's what he's _going_ to do, like it or not.

"If I come, it won't be in your mouth." Tommy can feel Adam's smirk against his skin. It will be on him. Claiming, yes, marking, yes. And just the idea makes Adam groan and rock his hips. "It's not complicated. Just ... do what you think would feel good." He catches on of Tommy's wrists and pulls his hand down, curling it around his dick. "Oh, mmmm." Not-gay Tommy can be taught.

If Adam doesn't come in his mouth, then that means he'll come-

The first place Tommy imagines is his face. What! That's always the shot that's gone for in porn, right? Or on tits, and since he doesn't have tits, well. That leaves one other place. Tommy strokes Adam like he strokes himself, firm and squeezed, breath panted out almost in sympathy, as if Tommy's jerking himself off for Adam's pleasure. "I can do this," he murmurs against Adam's ear, palm curling over the head of Adam's cock. "I can be good at this."

"You - mmm - you can, yeah." Adam's head falls back and he closes his eyes, bracing himself (even though he's lying down) by holding Tommy's shoulders. "That's good." The callouses on his fingers, built up over time, make the pleasure sharper. With a groan, he pulls himself forward again, his face, to catch Tommy's mouth, kiss him, suck on his tongue and make him breathless.

It almost doesn't feel like his fingers are attached to his hand, or his hand is attached to his body. Thanks, pot brownies. But Tommy can still feel everything, the smooth head of Adam's dick, the weight of it in his fingers, and it makes his own hips twitch, bumping against Adam's leg. How does this happen? How does it _keep_ happening? Tommy breathes quick through his nose, as close to breathless as he can get when every pull of his hand feels like it compresses his lungs down into two little flat balloons. "When?" he asks, pulling away only far enough to speak; his lips still touch Adam's, for all the words he says. "When do you want me to?"

"Oh, God, now." Adam huffs out a breath that sounds like a laugh. "I want your mouth on me." Another kiss, hungrier, before he pulls back, too, back arched to create a V between them. God, his cock twitches in Tommy's hand just to think about it. He cards his fingers through soft hair, urging him down. "Don't worry. You'll be so good."

He slithers down the bed on his stomach, face flushed with alcohol and embarrassment, and when Tommy finds himself face to face with Adam's cock (Glambulge! That'll never not be funny), he hazards a glance up at Adam himself. Ready. Ready. _Not_ ready, but doing it anyway. He breathes, hearing his pulse in his ears. "Okay," Tommy says, just once, and touches the flat of his tongue against the underside of the head of Adam's cock, a slow lick that tastes like... skin. So he does it again, and after bracing his weight on his elbows, a third time, longer and slower, exploratory, up the length.

"Oh my _God_," Adam groans out, a heel digging into the bed, both hands now in Tommy's hair, not pushing or pulling, just ... bracing, he supposes. "Yeah. That's good. That's ... that feels really good." Like a tease, but with all the alcohol and pot in his system, most anything will feel a little dulled. "Nice, baby."

It's not that Tommy's teasing. He's nervous as fuck, almost half a case of beer sloshing around in his guts, the receptors in his brain all fuzzy and fried. Adam gets one more glance from him, dark eyes meeting light, and Tommy dampens his lips, lashes coming down to kiss his cheeks, and he slips down on Adam, trying to keep him on his tongue rather than against the roof of his mouth. Is this weird? This is weird. Adam Lambert's cock, in _his_ mouth, his hands in Tommy's hair. He realizes he _wants_ Adam to guide him.

He gets his wish, without Adam even being able to read minds, because when he feels that warm, wet around him, he can't help but moan like a whore and spread his hands so that they span Tommy's head, urging him deeper before he even realizes he's doing it. As soon as he _does_ realize it, his grip loosens, but _fuck_. Nothing weird about this to Adam, anyway. It feels _good_.

Adam's grip might loosen, but Tommy's not against a challenge, either. If that's where Adam wants him to be, that's where he'll be, and Tommy thinks of every beej he's ever gotten, keeping his lips over his teeth, and bobs his head, coming down to where Adam had pushed him and pulling up. This is it, right? This is all he's supposed to do? When Tommy has to catch his breath, the motion of his mouth turns instinctively to suck as he breathes through his nose, hands held still on Adam's hips. His own hips, on the other hand, dig up against the mattress, and he groans softly around Adam.

Yes, that. That's ... really good. Not perfect, of course, but who was on their first try? Of course, Tommy's not gay. Anyway. That's not something to think about at the moment. Instead, this is more about the experience. When he establishes a rhythm, Adam lets go of his head with one hand, wrapping that, instead, around the part of his cock that Tommy can't suck (though in a flash of imagery that makes him weak, Adam imagines _pulling_ Tommy's head down until he practically chokes), and he strokes in time, inarticulate sounds as harmony.

Tommy pulls back for a second to watch Adam's hand, eyes heavy and dark, lips plush and parted, slick with spit and friction, and then he leans in again to lick Adam's fingers, across the bumps of the backs his knuckles, then his fingertips, up the ridge on the underside of Adam's cock. He's trying to figure out what's what, and what makes Adam feel good, because it isn't as if they're all cookie-cutters, right? Just because there's an open mouth and a dick involved doesn't mean that it's going to be what Adam wants, and hidden beneath all of everything Tommy thinks he is, he wants to know what gets Adam off.

Oral play? That's a good start. That is a really good start. Adam lets go of his cock and cards now-spit-slick fingers over Tommy's cheek as he rolls himself up some, urging Tommy up. "I ... kiss me," he says. "C'mere and kiss me." He wants to taste himself on Tommy's tongue. "Do you wanna fuck?" He asks, and the words come out slurred, heavy on his tongue. "D'you want me to fuck you?"

He's nodding before Adam's even finished, bracing his palm into the pillow under Adam's head to kiss him, all of his muscles shaky, unsteady. They're going to fuck. Again. Will there be rules? Will Adam tell him what to do? At least - _at least_ \- he knows what to expect this time, and even without Adam's express permission, Tommy's hand finds its way around Adam's cock again. He _wants_ Adam to take whatever he wants, a handjob, a blowjob, fucking. It's because he's drunk that it's so easy. Just like it'd been because they were at the club, before. Right?

If that's what he needs to think? Fuck it; Adam can't even care. He gets an arm around Tommy's waist and turns, blanketing him, kneeing his legs apart even as he pushes his fingers into his mouth. "Suck," he tells him. "Make them wet for you." Fuck, he feels overheated, over-stimulated, wanting too much. Even as he does that, eyes glued on Tommy's mouth, he rocks his hips, cock rubbing against his thigh.

Tommy sucks on Adam's fingers, and they stifle the short, shuddered noises that come from having Adam push up against him like that, and he works on Adam's fingers like he had his cock only a couple of minutes ago. Wary of teeth, wet and slick. _Make them wet for you._ Is that all Adam's going to use? Tommy's spit? A shudder runs down his back, and whoops, his teeth nip down against Adam's fingertips.

"Ah!" Eyes heavy-lidded, Adam smirks, pulling those fingers out - he needs them. Then, even as he lowers his head drag his teeth along Tommy's collarbone, he pushes one finger - the middle one if anyone cares - into Tommy's ass. No slow, no pause, right in, and right back out, fucking with it almost immediately. He curls it the second or third time, brushing Tommy's prostate, too. Hi there.

It serves to make Tommy seize up for a second, all of his muscles suddenly too tight for the bones they lay on, and his heels dig against the bed, chin pressed down between his collarbones, teeth bared and eyes squeezed shut. The twitch of his cock feels more like swinging a bat in slow-motion, and he almost hisses something like an apology before the realization settles that he's _not_ sober, and what he feels is probably- it's probably-

"Oh _fuck._" Tight, pushed out between his teeth, and Tommy's fingers snap into fists. "You get off on doing this to me, don't you." What means to come out accusing is only _barely_ that; it sounds much more like a plea for more, or for Adam to say yes.

"I should hope so," Adam chuckles before he sinks his teeth into the soft skin behind Tommy's ear. "Defeats the purpose if we don't come." Gradually the clench around his finger loosens and he can add another, finally lifting his head to kiss Tommy again. "Gonna fuck you _slow_. Gonna ... gonna fuck you good and slow."

All Tommy can do is breathe and gasp, tense and relax. He's never been particularly quiet between the sheets, but hey, he's only been between the sheets with girls before Adam. Adam, who makes Tommy want to _do_ things and _be_ things; Adam, who makes Tommy wonder what it'd be like, even as it's happening. Adam, who confuses him. "S- slow," he agrees, eyes almost shut, watching the way Adam's lips move, how his teeth dig into his lower lip at the word 'fuck'. It's hot, okay? _Hot._

More kisses, wet and messy as three fingers are worked in and finally - _finally_ \- Adam can pull his nightstand drawer open and reach in. He pulls out the box of condoms and the roll goes unrolling across the bed. "Fuck," and he can't not laugh as he tries to get just one that he can rip open with his teeth. With a few more sounds that mix arousal and frustration, he finally gets the condom on and flops to his back, reaching for Tommy. "Ride me."

Tommy watches the condoms unravel, and he looks up at Adam with an eyebrow raised. "Do you buy _stock_ in them?" He's jerky and unsure, and his expression is one of vague disbelief when Adam gives his demand. Ride _that?_ Adam can see the way Tommy steels himself, a couple of breaths, a steadying of his shoulders, and then he straddles Adam's hips. "Okay." He nods. "Okay." Tommy's pulse is visible in his throat, his blush is so severe, and he moves up so he can hold Adam's cock and push back against it.

"Oh, _fuck_." Breathing out a moan, Adam braces the base of his cock and watches, avidly, as Tommy moves down it. And when he does, it's hot and tight and feels _amazing_. It's all he can do not to push up, pull Tommy down and just _fuck_ for _hours_ until he does come. "Tight ass, yeah." His free hand is around Tommy's hip. "Yeah. Uh-huh. Yeah."

There's the audible sound of Tommy's teeth grinding as he makes himself take Adam's cock, not stopping until he's settled across Adam's hips, head down, breath coming in torn pants, fingertips skipping down Adam's chest. If he leans forward, it pushes his cock against Adam's stomach, and there are probably a hundred and fifty different ways to say how this feels, how it's different than last time, fuller, tighter, painful in a way that Tommy knows, now, would lead to pleasure. Fuck, what if he gets drunk dick? A pleading look flickers across Tommy's face as he tugs Adam's wrist toward his cock.

"Shh, baby, it's okay," Adam all but coos. "It's okay." His hips flex up before he can stop himself; he wants to _fuck_. He strokes Tommy's cock, through, thumb brushing over the slit, taking away the precome. "Your ass is so _tight_. Feels good, doesn't it? Doesn't it feel good? Fuck, yeah." He chews on his lower lip as he tugs. "Fuck yourself on me. C'mon."

"Jeez _Adam._" Tommy's face is a strange combination of tense and lax, expressionless in how far into himself he's feeling this, eyelashes sitting on his cheeks. It's good, he wants to tell Adam. It's _so_ good, and no fucking wonder chicks like playing cowgirl. Christ. After a minute of finding his balance, Tommy lifts himself up on Adam's cock and pushes down, then again, and a third time, unaware of the sound that he's making. It's a hum, low in his chest, not quite a groan, but very, very close.

It's _gorgeous_. Still fisting Tommy's cock, Adam digs his heels into the bed and pushes up to meet his movements. "Yeah, feels good. I know. I know baby, it feels good. Slow and hot and deep, huh? Take my cock, take all of it, just like that, yeah." In the murk of the room, his eyes are barely slitted, glinting dully when they catch the light coming in from the windows.

Adam's _mouth._ And the shit he says. Just like that, take it all, and Tommy does, as much as he can, as much as he knows how, and now his head falls back, feeling pleasure shoot up his spine, lust wrapped in tight heat, pushed into him by Adam's cock, pulled out of him by Adam's hand. It works like clockwork, like that fuckin' riff in ...And Justice For All, building not quickly but steadily. "Fuck," Tommy whispers to the ceiling, hands coming back to rest on the tops of Adam's thighs, giving himself leverage that isn't in his knees. "Oh fuck, _yeah._"

It's _gorgeous_ and if Adam believed in sex tapes, he'd tape this. Instead, he twists his wrist when he squeezes the head of Tommy's cock and he clenches his teeth and pushes his hips up and it's enough to make a sober man dizzy, let alone one as fucked up as he is. "Feels good, baby," he slurs and his eyelids are heavy with it, body getting heavy with wanting to _come_. "Yeah."

Tommy runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back from his face, tucking his bangs back behind his ears. There's a shift in the way he's riding Adam, as if his body remembers something that he's consciously pushed away in trying to deny, and there's that seize of muscles again, sizzling pressure that makes his cock jerk in Adam's hand. It's _almost_ too much, and he leans over Adam, hand smushed in the pillow next to his head, mouth just a breath away. Wanting a kiss and not knowing how to ask for it. Wanting Adam's mouth on his when he comes.

All Adam has to do then is push himself up onto one elbow and their mouths crush together, swallowing noises as he doesn't even think about how tightly he's stroking Tommy's cock. He's dizzy and breathless and he's going to come and it can't happen fast enough. His teeth graze over Tommy's lower lip as he sucks on it.

It's pretty fucked that Tommy likes having his dick touched like that, just a little too hard, and it's while he's thinking about that back and forth of too much-not enough - zing-zing! like a good harmonic! - that he comes, crying out a sound against Adam's lips, and it's _different_ than last time. It's deep and _base_, something he can feel behind his ears and in the darkness beneath his eyelids. And Adam's not stopping. "_Fuh- fuck-_"

"Fuck!" Come splatters all over his chest and Adam pretty much lets go, fucking up into that tightness almost too hard and too fast because that's what he needs if he's going to come. And when he _does_ come, it feels like the top of his head is going to fly off. The sound he makes is nearly helpless and he shudders, pushing up through it, through how good it feels. Amazingly good, his hands tight around Tommy's thighs.

Tommy hides his face against Adam's neck, enough unsure of himself that he can't look at Adam yet. Fuck, now he's all wrung-out, shaky, the beer in his stomach shaken up and down like, well, beer in a can. He'll move in a minute, but right now, he stays as close as he can to Adam, panting in the taste of sweat and skin.

Hands rubbing up and down his back, Adam turns his head. They're back to whispering to each other. "I need to - the condom? I ... " _Sorry_. But facts are facts. Plus, Tommy's ass will start objecting sooner rather than later. "... are you okay?" Adam asks as he gently urges him up.

"I'm betting one of my balls that I'm gonna throw up soon." With a wince and a breath, Tommy lifts off of Adam and gets off the bed. "Way too much beer." So Adam doesn't think it's anything he did. It _is_, but Tommy's helpless to resist that, and he's starting to realize this. If Adam comes at him, then Tommy will just say yes. "And I gotta clean up." Which means going to the bathroom where there's a _real_ place to clean himself up, flicking on the light and shutting the door. Twice, now. Twice they've done this and twice Tommy's fuckin' fled like Miss Muffet from a spider. Lame.

Okay. Well, there goes Adam's offer to help. And once he's discarded the condom, he closes his eyes. Then opens them right back up because, hello, _dizzy_. Though, he's grateful to note, not close to vomiting, which, ick. After a moment, he pushes himself up to sitting to call, "there's Pepto and Alka Seltzer in the second drawer from the top to your right, there. And the mouthwash is under the sink."

"Nah, I'm good," comes the answer. "False alarm." The water's running anyway, cold, splashed on his face to try and sober up a little bit, then pressed to parts of his body that are a lot hotter and a _lot_ more sore. After a minute, he comes out with that same downcast posture, careful of what he should say or do now that he's back in Adam's bedroom. He goes for regular: "I say we get Big Macs for breakfast."

"Oh my God, don't say that again or I really will throw up, ugh." With some careful wriggling, Adam gets under the covers and again, he reaches out for Tommy to come closer, to lie with him, to quit looking so damned skittish. In a few minutes, he promises himself, he'll get up and brush his teeth and piss. But not yet.

Adam doesn't seem to realize that for all his nice-guy thing he's got going on, he's _intimidating,_ and after something like, say, riding his cock like a stripper pole (don't ask, he was drunk), Tommy's having a little bit of a hard time with how he feels. So, instead of thinking about it, which'll probably lead to beerpuke, he climbs into bed beside Adam, not bothering with clothes because he needs _nothing_ pressed against his ass, thanks, and fits himself in next to the other man. It crosses Tommy's mind how easy it is to get comfortable.

Turning onto his side (alert to any signs of nausea), Adam throws an arm around Tommy's waist and nestles him even closer. Intimidating, _right_. "I have a hangover cure meal thing I learned about we can have in the morning," he said, words breathed over the back of Tommy's neck, the smooth place there where his hair just kind of disappears into, before kissing it. And 5-Hour Energy, of course.

"Mmh," Tommy answers, shivering. "Okay." It feels as though his heart's beating really hard, but it's probably because he's _exhausted_, still fucked up. Not because this scares him; he's Tommy Joe Ratliff, he's not afraid of anything! Except for centipedes and sex with men that's so intense that it turns Tommy's perception of himself on its side. No biggie. Tomorrow, he'll confront Adam about it. Tonight, though, he's too comfortable to do anything more than close his eyes. "Night."

"Night, baby." Adam kisses that skin again, then turns his head just a bit to rest it there and he closes his eyes too. Sleep, when it comes, is heavy and not entirely restful.


	3. Spindizzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What hurts more? Words or a slap?

It happens most when they're in public, at an appearance or doing a performance. Adam touches him and his skin feels hot, or he says something in Tommy's ear, sending shivers down his back. In private, they grab and snatch at clothing and hair and kisses, and then Tommy makes his biggest mistake. After, still gasping, his hands in Adam's hair and his own come slick between them, he whispers, "I'm not gay. I'm _not._"

It's like a slap, Adam's chest tight and before he even can think (_caught up in the moment_), he brings a hand back and smacks it over Tommy's mouth. "Fuck you. You just take it up the ass and beg for it." His muscles are still shaking, but he pushes himself off and away, fucking condom still on, scratches from Tommy's nails on his back and fucking Tommy says that.

Tommy jerks back against the pillow, a hand to his mouth, and then he's getting to his feet, too. It's only been a couple of weeks, okay? And he still doesn't know what to do with what _they're_ doing. "You do shit to me that I don't even understand! I don't even _think_ about it because I _can't._ You fucking call me 'glitterbaby' on Twitter and I try and joke back so people don't _freak out_. I'm freaking out! What the _fuck_ are you hitting me for!" A sock will have to do to clean up, and then Tommy's yanking his t-shirt back on, looking around for his jeans. "I can't be gay just because of you, you know. I can't just change everything I've always been because of _you._"

Seriously? Seriously. Before Tommy can find his jeans, Adam, still naked, has him by the elbow to yank him around, up against his body. "Say that again and say it to my face. Tell me you don't want what you have with me. Tell me that and maybe I'll believe you. _Glitterbaby_." The word hissed through clenched teeth.

"I never said that," Tommy hisses back, venomous. "I just said I wasn't about to be all 'what the fuck, I'm gay!' because of it." He doesn't pull back and he doesn't look away, eyes dark and hot, jaw squared, the print of Adam's fingers stark across his mouth. He shouldn't be snarking back like this, no way, Adam could point a finger and have Tommy kicked out of the band, and that would probably be the shittiest thing he could think of. Because, for all his denials, there's something there between them that Tommy can't ignore. He works on his words for a second, trying to find something to come back with, but instead, he just looks down, jaw tight and face tense.

"You're a fucking liar. Which is ... shitty," Adam mutters. "But what's _worse_ is that you're lying to yourself, which I ... I can't even stand." Without moving his arms, Tommy can see Adam throw up his hands. "I have worked _so hard_ to be comfortable with who I am and you come into my life and fucking say that, so you know what? Fuck you. Fuck _you_. Get out of my house."

With that, Adam lets Tommy go and steps back. He doesn't bother reaching for his clothes that are strewn all over the floor, but for the robe on the back of the bathroom door. As he stalks out, into the hall, toward the stairs, he wraps it around himself. He's so furious he can feel the rise of his blood pressure.

Tommy grabs his jeans and yanks them on, leaving his shorts and both of his socks on the floor, and he waits until Adam's downstairs before going down, shoving his feet into his boots, looking for where he'd flung his hoodie when they'd gotten here. "You might have worked hard to be comfortable with who you are, but that doesn't mean I'm comfortable with who _I_ am, especially when you come into _my_ life and fuck _everything_ up. See you at fucking practice tomorrow." Fuck his hoodie. He'll walk to the train and take it home. Fuck all of this. Then... he realizes that there _aren't_ any trains out here. _Fuck._

"_I_ fucked everything up?! Are you even fucking serious?!" Adam's face is a picture of disbelief as he appears in the entry to the kitchen. "You - you fucking come to me and you tell me that I can touch you and fucking do whatever I want to you and you tell me I fuck up your life. You know what? That's -- that's priceless. That's abso-fucking-lutely priceless. You are such a fucking _baby!_ I can't even believe it!"

"_I'm_ a fucking baby?" Tommy's face is red again, not from embarrassment or _want_, but with anger. "Before I met you, I knew everything about myself. I knew I was comfortable with a lot of shit. That's why I said that. _You're_ the one that kissed me on national TV. You're the one that fucking took me back to that club when you _knew_ it was a sex club. What the _fuck_, Adam Lambert!" There's his hoodie! His iPod's in the pocket, and no matter how far he's going to have to walk tonight, at least he'll have music. "Guess what? You've been fucking guys for the last six years. I've been getting fucked by _one_ guy for the last two weeks. Let's check our comfort levels, huh? Yours versus mine." He stands near the door, ready to walk out if Adam gets any more fucking Diva.

Really, Adam just can't even believe what he's hearing. There is a _reason_ gays don't fuck with straights and here it is in living, breathing 3-D. It's good he's not holding anything because it would be thrown against a wall right about now, before he stalks over, right into Tommy's personal space. "Are you trying to tell me that I forced myself on you? Is this what you're trying to tell me? Really. You tell me to touch you. You tell me fucking _yes_. And now how your story has changed. _Amazing_. The levels of delusion here are off the fucking _charts_." And then he shouts, face flushed. "_Get the fuck out of my house, you coward!_"

That's _not_ how it is! Tommy said anything not expecting to react to Adam the way he did. He had _no idea_ that a kiss would feel like that, or that Adam's hand clamped down on the back of his neck makes him want to go limp like a fucking kitten in the jaws of a lion or some Animal Planet shit like that. He had no idea that when Adam exerted his sexuality, no one would be able to resist. Not even Tommy Joe Ratliff. He shoves Adam back a step, then another one, and a third to make Adam bump up against the wall. "Fuck you, I'm no coward. You _know_ it." His hands shake as he wrenches the knot open on Adam's robe. "I'm not a fucking coward." Muttered now, attention turned downward and away from the way Tommy drops to his knees on the hard floor. "Yes, then. Fucker." And whether Adam's hard, half-hard, barely hard at all, Tommy closes his mouth around his cock.

"_Fuck!_" Adam's head, elbows and heels smack against the wall and it takes him a second to even figure out what's happening. He fists a hand in Tommy's hair, though and pulls his head back. "... what are you doing?!" He can't even - they just fucked not fifteen minutes ago and then with all the yelling and the rage, his stomach's all in knots, face contorted, eyes stormy. "Tommy - what the fuck-?"

"You called me a coward," Tommy growls, trying to twist out of Adam's grip. "You called me a fuckin' coward, and I was proving to you that I'm not, and you _stop_ me." If Adam had let him, he'd still be scared as hell, but he'd be _doing_ it. "Let go of my hair. You wanted me to fucking leave and you obviously don't want _that._" He gestures at Adam's open robe. "Let me the fuck go."

"You - I just -- you tell me you're not gay then you try to suck my dick? What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Adam does indeed let go of Tommy's hair, only to grab his wrist again and pull him up, grip tight enough that he's not going _anywhere_. "Quit fucking telling me what I want and don't want, feel and don't feel and fucking figure that out for yourself! I am not going to let you jack me around anymore."

Tommy pulls against Adam's grip, his own hands balled into fists. "Do you have any idea what this is like? No? Yeah, because you've been gay your entire life, right? Guess what. _You're my first_ and I don't know what the fuck to do with any of it. I'm not gay because I'm _not._ Because chicks are _awesome_, and then there's-" There's only been Adam, and Tommy wrenches his wrist again. "There's this thing we're doing that I don't know how to deal with, okay? It might be easy for you, but it isn't for me."

"Nothing worth anything is easy." And with that, Adam feels almost like he's deflating, the rage whooshing away, leaving him empty and aching. He lets Tommy go and turns away, doing up his robe again. "I don't want to see you until you've figured out how to deal with it, whatever way you want to, I don't even care anymore. Just ... get out and don't come back until you've fucking made up your mind one way or the other."

Tommy stands there for a second, staring at Adam's back in disbelief. _Get out and don't come back._ Yeah, he knows he hasn't been dealing with all of this in the finest, most mature ways, but it's _hard_, okay? There's an instinctive, base _want_ that comes from being around Adam, but it's so vastly different from how he's used to being attracted to women that it comes in flashes of thought and non-thought. Adam turns him on at the same time that he shuts Tommy off, too. "Come on, babyboy," he says, and his voice is shaking now, too. It's his retaliation to being called glitterbaby, and it's maybe worth a try. Fuck, five minutes ago, he was ready to storm the castle! Rape the horses! Ride away on the women! and now he can't stand the look of the door. "I'm fucking scared, okay? I'm scared."

"And you think I'm not?" Adam doesn't fully turn around; his chin is on his shoulder, eyes slanted to watch Tommy from the corner of them. "You don't ever say what you said to me again." And even if his jaw is thrust out, it's not as firm as it could be. Fucking Tommy Ratliff. How dare he come in, be Adam's type, quote movies and offer himself up on a platter, only to take it all back with three words: _I'm not gay._

"You've _done_ this before. I've _pretended._ It freaks me out that I can't pretend around you. It fucks me _up._" He shoves his bangs behind his ear because they're kind of not quite long enough to stay in place, and too long to hang in his eyes. "What'll you do, smack me again?" Where Adam can see, Tommy lifts his fingers to touch the red mark on his face. "What do you want this to be?"

"I've done it twice; I'm not a whore, you know." Adam rolls his eyes, turning halfway around, his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't ... you seem to think I have all the answers, and I don't. I didn't mean to hit you in the first place except you have no sense of timing. You don't tell someone that when you've still got their cock in your ass, which is _pretty much_ the gayest position you could possibly be in." With that, he looks over, chin up. "What do you want from me, Tommy?"

"Don't quote your songs, man. It just makes you look cheesy." Tommy pulls his hands into his sleeves before sticking them under his arms. "I'm sorry. I know I have shitty timing. For the record, twice is still two more times than me, and there's _no way_ you've only ever been with two guys, so don't even bullshit me on that." With a stubborn sigh, he looks away from Adam. "Please don't make me go." He doesn't know what he wants from Adam, but he can't go knowing that Adam's genuinely pissed at him. "And fuck you and your gay positions. It doesn't feel gay when you're doing it."

"You talk ... you talk _so much_ and you don't say _anything_, Tommy. Fuck." Running a hand through his hair, Adam turns away again, back to the kitchen. The water he'd put on for tea has been boiling for a long time now; thankfully, it's not all boiled away. He pours it into his mug, leaning against the counter as he waits for it to steep.

The words condensed are too intense to say when Adam's right there, so when Tommy hears him moving around in the kitchen, he raises his voice. It's okay, Adam's not looking at him. "I don't know how to be with a guy and you make me want that. And I don't know how to deal with wanting it. I want you to fuck me, okay? I want you to do things to me that I've only ever joked about 'cause they freak me out. I..." What were Adam's words? "I wanna be your excess."

"Then what?" Adam asks, tossing his tea bag into the sink to drain. "We do whatever kinky thing you want to do and you freak out on me again. No. I'm not playing that game anymore. I'm out. You can say whatever you want about me in whatever twisted version of reality you have going on in your head, but I haven't played you and I haven't lied to you. But you've done those things to me."

Tommy's tone is utterly monotone in the fear of what his words might mean. "No game. I want you to show me how. Just between you and me, okay? No running. No freaking out. If I need to make a fuckin' decision about what I am or what I'm gonna be, then this is it." He doesn't realize he's backing up until his heels hit the door. "I'm sorry. You've gotta show me how to do this." His heart is running like a jackrabbit in his chest, mouth dry and stomach clenched up with adrenaline. There, he said it. "I'm not gay 'cause I don't want guys. I want you. The end."

Between the clunk of the heels of Tommy's boots against the door and the words he says, Adam stands there like an idiot before he makes himself set down his tea and walk, one foot at a time, into the living room. In a cotton robe, his face nearly devoid of make up, hair mussed, he crosses his arms over his chest and he looks over at Tommy. "Are you sure? I swear to God, Tommy, if you're fucking with me, I can throw a really mean punch and mean it."

In any other situation, the visual would be kind of hilarious, but this isn't any other situation, this is _serious_, and Tommy swallows before nodding, very deliberately. "You already smacked me, I know how fuckin' hard you can hit. Ouch, by the way. Thanks for that." Pause, then his tone changes, gaze sliding away again. "Thank you." Yeah, he's been reading. _Yes_, he knows how to read! He just... doesn't spell very well. _Thank you, may I have another?_ But Tommy's not about to ask that, because that's kind of fucked.

Oh, _come on_. Seriously? Seriously. "I should hate you," Adam mutters. Of course in that little revelation, Tommy didn't actually _say_ he was sure, because he's a fucking master at bullshit, apparently. After a moment spent doing nothing (because movement means action, which denotes a decision), Adam fists his hand in Tommy's shirt and jerks him away from the door and toward the stairs, pulling the (much) smaller man along behind him, his tea forgotten.

When they're back in the bedroom, the door shut and locked behind them, Adam lets Tommy go with enough oomph behind it that Tommy staggers some. "Is that what you want?" Adam asks, jaw tight. "You want someone to knock you around some? Does that make being gay that much easier to swallow? Oh, sorry. Gay for _me_, not gay-gay." Because, there's a difference, apparently.

There's a huge difference, in Tommy's head. Because being gay means liking _guys_, and all of his senses have been swamped with everything that Adam is, everything he does, says, looks, touches, even the way he sounds. Especially when he talks in Tommy's ear, or when he's being sharp and hard, like this. "Just you," he clarifies, steadying himself on his feet. "I like being knocked around, fuck off." He raises his eyes, sullen and dark, and looks at Adam. "By you." Is that clear enough?

"You're a dirty bitch." Adam says that all low and deep, his eyes nearly all pupil. "Say your safeword." So Adam knows he can. Fuck, he can feel the stirrings of heat in his hips. "And take your clothes off. All of them."

"Rickenbacker," Tommy mutters between his teeth, stripping his t-shirt off and dropping it to the floor. _Dirty bitch._ It makes his skin rise in goosebumps and he rubs his arms with his palms before starting on his pants, unbuttoned, unzipped, undressed, and after he toes out of his boots, his jeans are kicked aside, too. In a matter of a few panted breaths as he stands there exposed, Tommy feels the chill on his skin turn to heat, directed over his skin by the way Adam's looking at him. It's hard to pair these two sides together, public-Adam and private-Adam, but the hints of it that show up in public are fully-blown now. He ducks his head to look down at the floor. "Good?"

Adam's answer to that question is a nod. Good. "I won't hit you to permanently damage," he says, walking over in slow, measured strides. "There are places you don't hit." His hand spans Tommy's stomach, sliding around to his lower back, the kidney area. "But there are other places." Up, over his shoulders, his other hand skimming over Tommy's ass and thighs. "Don't move." That said, he walks over to his dresser, pulling out a drawer and rifling through it. "I'm tempted to gag you," he notes as he finally finds what he's looking for, pulling out a cock ring and a ball gag, holding them both up as he turns. "If I gag you, you get a bell to safeword." And he pretends to ponder this, watching for reactions on Tommy's face.

"I can deal with a black eye or a split lip," Tommy shrugs. Wait, does that count as moving? It shouldn't, and if Adam counts it, then Tommy... probably won't do anything. His eyes raise to what Adam has in his hands. "You kept that stuff? I thought you just..." He shakes his head. His breathing speeds up under Adam's touch, and his fingers curl into loose fists. "A bell. That's fair." His groin feels tight and hot, more from the idea of the ring - and Christ, he thought Adam only used them as a fashion statement or something - than from the gag. But the idea of not being able to say no in so many words appeals to Tommy, and he hopes Adam gets that. That Tommy's willing to have that privilege taken away.

Getting it more from the curve of Tommy's shoulders, Adam stands behind him. "Open," and reaches around, setting the ball between Tommy's teeth. Then the strap is snapped behind his head. Lower, then, his fingers teasing up Tommy's half-hard cock as he slips the ring on, getting it settled right at the base before he strokes Tommy fully hard. There might be a hint of a smirk on his face as he goes back to the drawer, coming back with a very simple silver bell that he presses into Tommy's hand, curling his fingers around it. "You ring that, we stop. No questions, no problems. And I'm not going to give you a black eye or split your lip. You're too pretty."

Pretty isn't a word he's ever thought about in regards to himself. Sure, there's the eyeliner and the bleached hair, the clothes, the- Okay. But there's a ball between his teeth and it makes him want to gag, just a little bit, and he pokes his tongue against the back side of the ball. Tommy closes his eyes, feeling the vague throb of the ring around the base of his cock, and he wonders again where Adam gets this stuff, and how he knows how to use it. Then he opens his eyes, looking for Adam, for guidance, for Adam's attention as he very deliberately lets the bell drop from his fingers. So there.

So there, indeed. But see, safe, sane and consensual were things that Adam had learned are important. No safeword is a whole different game. Adam bends down again and picks up the bell, holding it out. "You have to be able to tell me no." His hand is warm around Tommy's. "Those are the rules."

It's strange watching the different facets of Adam's personality come together into this, Adam who's careful and warm, Adam who's hard and demanding, Adam who's sexy as fuck, overtop of all of that. Tommy takes the bell back, careful not to ring it, and looks Adam in the eyes when he nods. Yes, he understands, there has to be a chance to be able to say no, but if Tommy's trying to prove his point to Adam, then he's not going to need to say anything. The ball in his mouth makes it just a little hard to breathe, and even harder to swallow, and he glances at the bed, then back to Adam, waiting for his direction. It wasn't _that_ long ago that Adam had shouted at the top of his lungs for Tommy to get the fuck out of his house.

No, it wasn't. And Adam can still feel the taint of the argument on his skin. He touches Tommy's face, fingertips skating over his skin as he just _looks_ at him for a minute. Maybe Tommy can see him searching around in himself for what this scene needs, to push away the bad stuff. He brushes his thumb along Tommy's lower lip then pulls his hand away. There's a flash of an instant, then his hand smacks _loudly_ across Tommy's cheek.

It sends Tommy reeling on his feet with surprise, not expecting something that sharp, that fast, and for it to _hurt_ as much as it does. The heat that surges up in its wake makes him dizzy, and once his balance is steady, he nods at Adam. _Thank you._ His cock feels heavy now, flush with blood, with want, with anticipation, and behind that, the grip of the ring. Tommy wonders if it had been a bracelet at one point, like that glove-thing Adam has now, and presses his tongue to the back of the ball as if wanting to dampen his lips.

"Good." The skin on his cheek is bright stained red and Adam cups his cheek as he leans forward, kissing the heated flesh gently. He steps back again, eyes skating down Tommy's body, lingering on his cock before he shrugs off his robe and lets it fall to the floor, walking slowly until he stands behind him. A black-manicured nail trails down Tommy's spine, tickling right at the base before the touch disappears. There's a moment of nothing, then the whoosh of air and the smack of Adam's hand flat on the boy's ass.

There isn't a proper descriptor for the sound that Tommy makes, muffled by the gag but sharp and loud anyway. A sound of surprise, and he's up on his toes without even realizing it. Again, there's that sensation of rushing heat being filled with something else, something dark and deserved, and when Tommy's heels come down against the floor, it's with a groan. Stings and burns that wrap long-fingered flares around his spine and down, down, into his hips and _tight_ around his cock.

"Good," Adam coos into his ear, the breath of the word over the shell. Standing right there, close, Tommy can feel the jut of Adam's erection against his hip. Adam splays his hand over Tommy's heart, not moving away as he raises his other hand again. This time he doesn't stop at just one, but keeps going, sharp slaps that build on one another until even he thinks he can feel the heat and the burn.

Okay. Adam wants this. Adam wants to do this. The ball tastes like not much of anything, rubber and smooth and it's beginning to make Tommy's jaw cramp up a little. Under Adam's other hand, Tommy's heart is beating, not fast, but steady, the run of adrenaline in his veins steadying him instead of making him want to _run_, instead. Each sharp moment of contact of Adam's hand to Tommy's skin means a little noise, a twitch, a flutter of lashes. He doesn't dare touch Adam yet, even though his fingertips remember the feel of Adam's hair between them, and the feel of his skin under Tommy's nails. Fuck. He's got pink welts all over his body, all of them shaped like Adam's hand or his fingers; marks that'll be gone by tomorrow from his body, but not from his memory.

By the time he's pushed onto his elbows and knees on the bed, Tommy's ass is a bright red, and Adam scrapes his nails up his thighs to create red lines to go with it. He kneels behind Tommy, fingering his hole that's still slick from before. "I'm not going to let you come," he tells Tommy, a smirk in his words. "If you're good, I'll let you come later." Tommy wants choices taken away? Adam can do that and in doing that, keep Tommy close, close, closer.

The bob of Tommy's head says that he's okay with Adam's decision, with Adam's treatment, and he creaks out a sound behind the gag under the bite of Adam's nails. _Do you like when I scratch you?_ he wants to ask, but can't. _I can't help it, I can't stop it._ Just like he can't stop what Adam's doing right now. He doesn't _want_ to, because as easily as Adam strips away all of Tommy's control, this is peeling it down to a new level, leaving Tommy helpless, stinging, hot, and stupidly, ridiculously turned on. His back arches, nearly pressing his stomach to the bed, and Tommy glances over his shoulder at Adam, gauging the expression on his face. He'll be able to come if he's good. Would Adam take the ring off, first?

They'll find out, won't they? Adam meets his gaze with an expression Tommy knows; determined, hot, but _in control_, as he fucks a finger inside him, all the way, pushing and curling it on its way out. The gesture, as well as his face, says _you're mine, whether you say it or not_. There's no mistaking it. "You look good in that," he says, upnodding toward the gag that keeps Tommy from talking. They could, he thinks, do a video with Tommy trussed up; sexy as hell, he thinks.

Tommy groans behind the gag, letting his head fall forward, the heels of his hands digging into the bed. How many times has he been here, now? How many times has he found his fingers tangled in Adam's sheets, or his hair? He wipes the side of his mouth against his shoulder because the gag feels like it's making him drool and that's kind of gross. Adam can see the line of Tommy's spine shift and arch as Adam rocks his wrist, hear the hum that comes out of his chest, almost a whine. _Thank you_, he'd say again, _again_, if he could, and even the minute brush of his cock against the sheets makes him feel hot and restless.

Two fingers, then, but not more. Tommy wants rough? Adam can give him that. He reaches over Tommy's body to get a condom and he slicks that on - it's lubed so that's all Tommy gets before Adam is pushing inside, watching his cock disappear in between ass cheeks that are nearly glowing red.

The ring feels _really_ tight now, reminding Tommy that the twitch of his cock is all he's going to get. If he doesn't touch himself, he should be okay, right? "Rrgh," he sounds, teeth bared around the ball, feeling the vague burn of Adam's cock at the same time as a higher, more intense fire under his skin from where Adam's smacked him so many times. He deserves it, he's been dicking Adam around, right? Confusion might be a good excuse, but it's not good enough. Tommy pushes back against Adam and with that movement, gets an ass full.

Adam groans, hands wrapping tight around Tommy's thin hips. Leaning back just a few degrees, he pulls Tommy down on him, eyes glued onto where they're connected and how good it feels. He hisses out a breath through clenched teeth before throwing his head back and letting himself fuck. "Shit!"

Tommy's got his eyes closed, moving with Adam as much as letting Adam move him, hearing the impact of their bodies, _feeling_ it like a thousand needles underneath his skin. His fingers shake just a little bit as he reaches back to touch the side of Adam's thigh, hoping it's something he's allowed to do because he _needs_ to touch Adam. He needs to ground himself, needs to know that Adam's maybe as heated as he is. Tommy's so focused on what Adam's doing, mastering that fine line between pleasure and pain, that the pressure of the ring is distant, and he doesn't even feel the slow leak of his cock. All he feels is _full._ And wanted.

He can perhaps guess at how many people Adam has treated like this. It isn't something that essentially will get him off. But giving his lover what he wants? That's a kink right there. Fucking, all base need and instinctual movements? That's a kink too. Adam brushes his hand over Tommy's - that's okay - and he holds him again, tight, fucking Tommy back on him, his own breathing getting tighter and faster.

When Adam pulls him back like that, Tommy lets out a muffled, hoarse noise, fingers digging into Adam's thigh, urging him. _Yes._ He's forgotten about Adam's order about not coming, because he can hear Adam's breathing, feel the urgency behind his thrusts, and it's only when Tommy realizes that he's almost there, all aching pressure and heat, that he shakes his head. Stop, stop, give him a chance to gain back some control. It'll _kill_ to come through the ring, he knows this without ever having experienced it before, but the way it sharpens in his belly tells the truth.

"You're not coming," Adam reminds him and the words come out slurred, like his tongue is too thick for his mouth. No, Tommy will come when he _begs_ to come. Hours from now, even. "But I'm gonna come in your ass." Well, in the condom at least. Reaching forward, he wraps a hand around Tommy's shoulder and _rides_ him, skin slapping against skin until he lets out a nearly grateful-sounding moan, his body shuddering with his orgasm.

By the time Adam comes, Tommy's _right there_ again, wanting to pull at the ring, wanting it _off_ so he can come, too. But Adam said no, Adam said he had to wait, and the _want_ sits in his guts like a bowling ball, heavy and dark. And fuck, the _sound_ Adam makes...

Tommy braces his weight on one hand, shuddering, the other hand moving up and down the outside of Adam's thigh. Again, he'd thank him, thank him for _this_, for teaching Tommy, for taking control when Tommy's felt lost.

After a moment, Adam pulls back, falling to his haunches, tugging off the condom and even still hissing at the sensitivity. Tommy can only hear this. Then he can feel Adam's fingers tracing circles over abused skin, knuckles down along his balls. "Are you close?"

Tommy whines, wincing away from Adam's touch, and his head jerks up and down in a nod. He's close, oh _fuck_, but please don't make him come with the ring on. He's a tough guy, little and wiry, but he thinks that if Adam made him do that, it might make him cry. He tries to say 'please' around the gag and it comes out sounding like nothing at all.

So that's why Adam unsnaps the strap for the gag and lets Tommy spit it out. "You're going to stay here. You can lay on your back or whatever you want, but you're not going to come. I'm going to go get my tea and I'll bring you some water." His fingers are gentle through Tommy's hair. "Be right back." And the weight of the bed shifts as he steps off, shrugging the robe back on before he gives Tommy one more look, then disappears, once again, into the hall.

Tommy stays just where he is, curled on his elbows and knees until the fire in his guts lets him turn onto his back with a sigh. Holy _god._ Maybe the water will help, maybe it'll make it feel less like his balls are on fire and more like Adam maybe giving him permission to come. That'd be awesome. He works his jaw, trying to get the cramps out, and just to see how it feels, strokes a hand down his cock.

It's a bad idea, and Tommy jerks his hand back up and stuffs it under Adam's pillow beneath his head. Bad Tommy, no touchee. And how the _fuck_ is he going to get the ring _off?_ Does he have to wait until after? Will Adam _make_ him come?

So many questions! None of which are answered when Adam returns, a mug of tea (reheated) in one hand, a bottle of water in the other. He sits on the bed, a leg pulled up under him as he hands over the bottle. There might even be some coyness behind his eyes as he sips his tea. There is _definitely_ some there when he asks, the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk, "how're you doing?"

"My dick hurts," Tommy croaks, looking up at the ceiling. He rests the butt of the bottle on his bare chest, glad for how cold it is. "It _aches_, actually. How do you take something like that off when, uh, everything's all squeezed in?" His cheeks are still flushed, gaze heavy and dark when he turns his eyes to Adam. "How do you know how to do all of this shit, anyway?"

"Drink the water; it's not just for holding." Adam nudges at his hand. "We have two choices for that." The ring that is. "You can come through it, or we wait for your hard-on to go away. Then we take it off and let you come without it." Another sip of tea and he addresses the other question. "I learned about this. The underground club scene is pretty intense around here."

"No shit." Tommy takes a drink of the water and it's _so_ cold, so good. "Pretty intense sounds like an understatement." He glances at Adam's face, then away; it's not as if Adam's switched back to the friendly, joking singer that the whole world knows, but it's there, hidden beneath the cool blue of his eyes and hair so black it reminds Tommy of that Spinal Tap album. "Wow, did you know that 'Smell the Glove' by Spinal Tap was supposed to have a woman on a leash on the cover? Hot. Instead... it ended up being the colour of your hair." Gay, Tommy Joe Rattliff. Watch your mouth. "Does it hurt a lot to come through it?"

Ignoring the Spinal Tap thing because, really, what the hell, Adam sets his tea aside and stretches out on the bed, head resting on his hand. Did Tommy just say it was okay to put him in a leash? Really? Really. "It hurts, yeah." And he runs his fingers along Tommy's jaw. "Do you want it to hurt? You'll never forget how it feels." And if he never forgets? He'll always remember Adam.

There's a yes there, but on one condition. "Does it feel good, too? Like, have you ever had this shit done to you? Or were you always the one that was doing it?" Without even thinking, he turns his head toward Adam's touch, the sensation of it feeling a little bit like licking a nine-volt battery, but _good._ And it's Adam's fingertips that Tommy's aiming for, catching the tip of Adam's middle finger between his lips.

A smile appears in the light turning up of Adam's mouth, his eyes on where his finger traces along Tommy's teeth. "It feels good, too. I tried it once. I haven't forgotten it. It feels ... super intense. I kind of wanted to sleep forever after I did. With a hand around my dick to protect it," he laughs out.

"Then..." Tommy nods. He wants to try it. "Okay. Like, I can deal with hurt, I said that before, that's no big deal." He finds a smile against Adam's laugh, because there's no denying it when it's there. "I wanna try that, okay?" He swallows, looking at the wall, the ceiling, the lip of his bottle when it comes up toward his mouth again. "Please."

"Now?" Adam arches a brow at him. "You want it now?" His fingers dance down Tommy's chest, over the hollow of his stomach to tickle at his pubic hair. "Are you going to stay tonight? With me?" So he can take care of Tommy, so they can be together. Even cuddle a little bit. If there's anything Tommy knows by now, it's that Adam likes to cuddle.

The softer side of Adam makes the hard side that much more compelling, that much more difficult to deny - not that Tommy's ever actually said no to Adam - and he huffs out a laugh under Adam's fingers. Fuck off, he's ticklish, alright? "If you want me to, yeah. I can stay. And, uh." He glances down at Adam's hand, so close to his cock but not quite close enough. "Now? If you want? It's... it's up to you."

"It is up to me," Adam reminds him, but really, he's not that much into deprivation. So he wraps his hand around Tommy's cock and slowly starts to stroke. Key word = slowly. The look in his eye makes clear that he wants to make Tommy feel every bit of this, so that he falls to pieces that Adam can gather back up and put back together.

Tommy doesn't look away from Adam's eyes, needing them to keep him right where he is, in Adam's bed, in Adam's hand, tight hot pleasure wrapped around his cock at the base, and he pulls a long breath, letting it out just as slow as Adam's stroke. After a couple of minutes, the pressure around him has Tommy hissing his breath, heels shuffling restlessly against the sheet. "Fuck," he spits. "_Fuck._"

That's when Adam tightens his grip like he knows Tommy likes, almost too tight, practically _pumping_ him. "C'mon," he urges leaning into breathe the words over Tommy's ear. "C'mon. Come for me, pretty. Come for me."

_It hurts_, Tommy almost says, but that's the point. He knew it would hurt, Adam _warned_ him, but at the same time, it's the most intense thing he's ever experienced. It makes his throat hurt and his eyes burn, makes his fingertips go numb. "Ah- _ah-_" When he comes, it feels almost impossible, hurting nearly as much as a kick to the junk, followed by a thunderclap of blinding pleasure. Come spatters up Tommy's stomach, between Adam's fingers, Tommy's own hands gripping the sheets as if trying to hold himself down when his body wants to arch up off the bed.

"There," Adam soothes, nuzzling Tommy's cheek with his. "There." His grip loosens, stroking Tommy's cock almost gently as he plucks off the ring and tosses it away. "There." Then he can gather the smaller man up, cuddling him to his chest. "There. You did so good. You did _so good_."

Tommy curls up on himself the moment the ring's off, but then Adam's got him, he's _got_ Tommy while he breathes and tries to stop the spinning in his head. "Holy," he gasps. "Holy _shit._ Holy god, that hurt." He turns his face against Adam's, bleach-blonde hair catching against black, and he says, just for Adam to hear, "Sorry. I'm sorry. For being like that."

"Shhh." That's for later, maybe after they've eaten and gotten high. Now is for this. This amazing moment when Tommy totally gave over to Adam and Adam was _there_ to see it and experience it. Adam pets down his back, rubbing, humming a little. "You'll always remember this now. You'll always remember this very moment."

It's like a tattoo on the part of him that Tommy keeps private. No, he'll never forget this, not one moment of it, even if right now it's foggy and hazy. It'll clear, and he'll go over every single thing that happened, every stab of sensation, every word spoken, every sound. "Tell me what you want from me." Whatever it is, whatever Adam wants; it's as if that part of Tommy that's private has realized something before his conscious mind could interject. That he wants Adam. Period.

There's a thoughtful pause before Adam answers. He rests his chin on the top of Tommy's head, still stroking his back. "I ... I want you. To be my boyfriend. We don't have to be out or whatever, but that's what I want. And I want you in my bed. And on stage with me where you know that I know that you're mine."

"I just like keeping private things private," Tommy mutters, his face tucked against Adam's neck. God, fuck, now he feels _exhausted_, stripped and drained and unable to move out of the security of Adam's hold. "I'll be whatever you want me to be." As long as Adam's got his back. That's cool. Tommy can deal with it. "And don't... I don't know. I still don't know what I'm doing." He sighs, low and slow, and Tommy closes his eyes.

"I do," Adam tells him, quietly. He kisses Tommy's forehead and settles back against the headboard. He does now, anyway. And if need be, he'll just remind Tommy of that. "It's okay, baby. I've got you."


	4. Stuck in a Bunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bunk that's about the size of a coffin. Then a hotel room that's not.

There's not much privacy on a tourbus. Frankly, it _blows._ One little privacy curtain that separates a bunk that's about the size of a coffin. Tommy sleeps with his headphones in, listening Puscifer because it's ultra-chill, and it blocks out the sounds of voices and laughter, TV and music. Adam's below him, Monte directly across, and Tommy's learned to sleep with his back to the curtain. It doesn't filter light out very well, either. Ugh. He ends up with a pillow under his head and another over his head, a feathered sandwich of music.

Adam, for one, has his sleep patterns all thrown off. Being back on the bus reminds him of Idol, actually, and he texts Kris at all kinds of inappropriate hours, stupid little jokes. Sometimes he even catches Kris still awake and they text-talk about being on the road. At least there are fewer people on this bus. And there's Lisa. So, a) it smells better and b) there's a little bit of a better ambiance to the bus. He drinks tea and watches the road go by for a few hours before he feels himself wind down enough to sleep.

When he's finally washed his face and brushed his teeth, he goes toward the coffin-beds and reaches into Tommy's curtain to run his finger down his boyfriend's back, a _hi_ and a _thinking of you_ which isn't hopefully too disruptive before he climbs down below. Yeah, there were jokes about him being on top, but he just isn't this time. For now at least. This isn't the first time he's wanted a fancier bus, one with one of those bedrooms in the back. Maybe next time.

Tommy shivers when he feels Adam's touch, and he twists around just in time to hear Adam pull his own curtain across. Sometimes being affectionate is easy, but sometimes if Adam does something, it makes Tommy feel cold and tight in his guts. It always ends up turning to heat, but he's still getting used to it. After a few minutes of quiet, he pushes his curtain back and slithers out, leaning down to whisper, "Room for me in there?"

Reaching up to touch Tommy's nose, Adam smiles, barely visible in the dark. "Yeah," he answers and Tommy can hear him scooting back against the wall. "Good thing you're teeny."

When Tommy gets in, Adam pulls the covers over both of them, tugging him closer, tucked to his chest. "Good show tonight, hmmm?" He asked, quiet, sleepy-sounding.

"Pocket-sized," Tommy answers, his tone wry and quiet, settling up against Adam. "Great show tonight. You tired?" It sounds like it, even as Tommy pokes one of his knees between Adam's to get comfortable. Not that claustrophobia is comfortable by any measure, but he can ignore it when it's just the two of them. "You wanna sleep? I got my 'pod if you want to listen to it..."

"I should be exhausted, but I keep forgetting how shitty it is to try to sleep on the bus." Adam chuckles into Tommy's hair. "We have the day off after the next show. Can't wait. See? I get excited about beds in hotels. How pathetic am I?" Pocket-sized, heh. Adam slips a hand under Tommy's shirt, bare skin to bare skin. By tilting his head a little, he can kiss Tommy's neck.

"I found out that music and pillows do a good job to knock me out. You make me tired, too." Adam can feel Tommy's answering smile, the raise of his hands into Adam's hair. "Buses are cold, too... except when you've got company." Which is why Tommy's bunched in with Adam. "Can't wait to get into a real bed. We sharing a room?" The space is close and dark, and it's too easy to turn toward Adam to catch his mouth instead. See? He can take initiative! Well, sometimes.

But how is Adam supposed to answer that question when the kisses are sweeter? He does have a chance to nod, though. They're sharing a room. It's something the handlers do now. Lowkey, see. Adam's hands slide lower, under the material of Tommy's sleep pants to cup his ass, pulling him that little bit closer so they're flush against each other.

"Oh." It's just a whisper as Tommy tips his chin down, his own hand moving under Adam's shirt to touch warm skin. The confinement of the bunk makes things feel gradual, the way their kisses soften and deepen, the way his cock hardens against Adam's thigh, even the way that he pushes Adam's shirt up in inches until it has to come off. The idea of anyone hearing what they're doing sends a shudder of anxiety down his back, but at least he can push it away, for now.

Clothes are pushed under the pillow, where they can be found later. Shirts, sleep pants. There is skin to be touched, kisses to be tasted. Adam nearly whacks his head on the top of the coffin-bunk as he rolls over Tommy, chuckling under his breath. _Adam Lambert concussed making out with bassist! FCC bans him!_ But that changes to a hiss when he feels the pressure between his legs as he rocks his hips.

"Watch your head, jeez," Tommy whispers, putting a hand to the back of Adam's head, and that whisper mutates into a sigh as his knees come apart for Adam. His other hand sits at the nape of Adam's neck, feeling where hair terminates to skin, and how both kinds of texture are soft. That he notices these things makes his insides freeze, and he murmurs, "Tell me what to do." So he doesn't think about what this really is, or how much different he feels with Adam. Don't give Tommy a choice.

"Kiss me," Adam answers in a whisper against his mouth. By reaching down he can pull Tommy's leg up his hip. He can curl his hand around, fingering at the tight opening down there. It's stupid to try to fuck here, God, but he wants.

Shit. As if there are condoms anywhere near the bunks. Of course there aren't. Well, there goes that plan. That doesn't stop him from teasing though, fingertip nudging at Tommy. "Don't make a sound."

Tommy's face tenses up for a moment, and there's the ghostly sound of his teeth grinding together. What the fuck is that? Getting all extra-touchy at exactly the same time as being told to be quiet? Unfair, Adam. Unfair times a million. He lets out a slow, shaky breath, hearing the dull thump of his heel against Adam's mattress as he pushes up. Then, _finally_, he kisses Adam, hot and off-center, fingertips stuttering along Adam's jaw.

He's a good boy. Adam kisses him, too, making the angle make more sense, hand shifting to cup and knead Tommy's balls. It's late enough that if he closes his eyes, his head spins a little bit, the whir of the road under them throwing off his equilibrium just that much. Somehow it makes all this sharper, more distinct.

It feels a bit like dreaming, to Tommy. It's dark; his eyes are closed. The air is warm and close; hot kisses, hot breath, body heat. When the only thing he can really hear is the spin of wheels and the sub-audible growl of the engine, it's easy to believe that he could just wake up. Tommy's lips kiss away from Adam's mouth, down to his jaw, back to his ear where he can pant against Adam's hair.

Tommy's leg is hugged tighter to Adam's side as Adam slides his arm closer in order to get a grip on Tommy's cock, stroking it, collecting the precome on the tip and sliding it down the length then. He can murmur in Tommy's ear then, things like how good Tommy feels, how much Adam _wants_ him, how hot his skin is, how gorgeous he is like this, naked and wanting. Gorgeous.

Adam's fingernails always seem to be flawless and unchipped, where Tommy's are scuffed and bitten, but he still drags them down the back of Adam's shoulder, going through his Best Covers Ever list in his head to keep him from saying anything, or even making a sound. Cradle of Filth doing Iron Maiden, Primus doing Metallica, Powerman 5000 doing Frankie Goes To Hollywood. Fuck, it's not working, because Adam's voice is clearer and more cutting than any of those bands right now. "Huh," Tommy breathes against Adam's skin, fingertips leaving imprints that are white for a moment before fading away. "Oh."

"I told you to be quiet. To not make a sound. Those are sounds." And his hand disappears from around Tommy's cock, fingers instead digging into Tommy's hip as he rocks his, getting friction that makes him hiss. "Now you're not going to come til we're in the hotel." Tommy can feel Adam's smile against his ear as Adam shifts, cockhead butting at Tommy's ass. "I should make you suck me off."

"I was just- I was- no way, I was just _breathing._" Tommy peers at Adam in the dark, or tries to, and then he feels that _smile_, and swats Adam's back. "You're not serious. You _started_ it." And wants to continue to tease Tommy with it, between the shock of sensation below and Adam's words, above. "I might be little, but I can't smush myself down that small." Unless there's some bending and a little bit of shuffling around, and then Tommy whispers, "Fine. Get on your back." Since he broke the rule, he might as well keep on talking, right?

Talking almost loud enough that if Monte's still awake, he's hearing more than he'd want to hear, surely. The idea makes Adam smile. Monte knows Adam too well; he's pretty near unruffled by anything Adam can throw at him. With some shifting, he's able to get on his back, only wanging his knee on the roof once - ouch. But then he can look up at Tommy with a grin and run a hand through his hair. "I told you not to make a sound."

"Breathing," Tommy mutters, his repetition grumpy, and shuffles down Adam's body in a series of elbows and knees, and he ends up crunched up so that if he moves too fast, he'll whack his back on the top of the bunk. At least it wasn't his knee, ow. But then he _can't_ make sounds, not properly, not when his lips circle Adam's cock to push down on him, slow and wet. _Shh_, the motion says. But it doesn't make it a demand. Tommy wouldn't do that, it's Adam's bunk, and his rules.

Though he's quiet, Adam arches his back off the bed, head back, eyes closing. Warm and wet. His hand spans Tommy's head, keeping him right there. Right _there_. Again, he can too easily picture himself pushing Tommy's head _down_ until Adam can feel Tommy's nose against his belly. Someday, perhaps. He gusts out a throaty groan.

The answer is something close to a purr, low in Tommy's throat, and he bobs with his eyes closed and tongue pressed to the underside of Adam's cock. Crouched down on his knees and elbows between Adam's thighs, there isn't a whole lot of room for Tommy's cock, and he shifts his weight from side to side before reaching down to press against it. Jeez, he was just _breathing._ That's not making noise.

It gets harder for Adam to stay quiet, too as his pleasure builds. He can feel his body get tight and almost without thinking about it, when Tommy bobs down again, Adam _holds_ him there. Just for a second, just ... just until - "_Fuck_," he breathes out as he comes, cock jerking against the top of Tommy's mouth. "Yeah."

"Gkk-" Tommy smacks the side of Adam's leg, surprised by how it feels, how it tastes, and Adam can feel the way he tenses, trying to pull up and trying to not move, at the same time. Don't gag, he begs himself. Don't. Don't do that because that would _suck._ "Mmh. Mh?" _What do I do?_ Well, no shit, swallow, so Tommy squeezes his eyes shut and tries, tries again, and on the third time, gets it.

Pulling air into his lungs, thrusts up before falling back and that's when his grip of Tommy's head loosens. "Sorry," he whispers, the word coming out a sigh. "Wow." His hand gentles; he pets Tommy's head. "So good."

Tommy jerks back hard enough that he smokes his head on the top of the bunk and what goes up must come down, leaving Tommy's face against Adam's hip, a hand rubbing the back of his head. "Ow, _ow_, motherfucker, _ow._"

Well, at least he's not freaking out over Adam coming in his mouth anymore.

"Ooh, baby." Gently, Adam keeps petting over his head as he tries to get his breathing under control. "Are you okay?" With his other hand, he can urge Tommy along his body to lie next to/on him. "Easy does it. You have an amazing mouth."

Tommy licks against the roof of his mouth before dampening his lips, and for a second, he can taste Adam's come, still. "I think I just about knocked myself out," he mutters, letting his head rest back against the pillow. "That was kind of, uh." Gross. "Different." Really gross. Note to Tommy: drink more dishsoap. Or at least get used to the texture! "It was okay? It was good?"

"It was really good. Don't worry, baby," Adam murmurs, getting himself wrapped back around his boyfriend. "You'll get used to the taste. It grows on you. And tomorrow night, I'll suck you off til you come down my throat, too."

Tomorrow. Really? Ugh. Despite the whole choke-gag-come, Tommy's still hard, and he has to wait until _tomorrow._ Think unsexy thoughts. Making out with Monte? That almost works, except it's Adam that's right here, and it's hard to ignore that. He rubs the bridge of his nose against Adam's jaw before murmuring, "I can't stay in here. I'll suffocate, I swear. I think they make the bunks as miserably fuckin' small as they can."

"Aww," Adam pouts. But he kisses Tommy's forehead. "... okay." Of course, Tommy's right, but that doesn't mean Adam has to like it. "Wait til I get you into a real bed, baby." And he grins as he leans back. There are clothes ... somewhere. Tommy's given a shirt and pants, but whether they're his own or not is anyone's guess.

Tommy stuffs himself into the clothes, and it takes half a second to climb out of Adam's bunk after a breathless kiss to slither back into his own. He didn't look to see if his clothes are actually his, and now that his curtain's closed, he doesn't have to worry. With Adam below, Tommy can push his pants down his hips (they're his, thank god) and curl his hand around his cock. Okay, yeah. _Yeah._ He can be quiet, but he has to shuffle a little bit to get his feet under the covers.

There's a moment of nothing really, then Tommy can hear Adam's elbows, maybe his knees, bang against the wall, a muffled curse and Adam's hand appears inside the curtain of Tommy's bunk. "I have your shirt," he stage whispers. "Trade me."

"-!!" Tommy yanks his hand back, cracking it off the frame of the curtain, and he stifles a curse. "'kay, gimme a sec." Adam's shirt is stuffed into his hand and Tommy waves his hand. "Gimme mine. I gotta go to sleep." But for a second, he touches Adam's fingers, holds them, before letting go. _G'night._ Well, after taking care of one last bit of business.

He gets his own shirt. Adam catches his fingers in the material of his shirt to pull it down. "You better not be jerking off."

There's a pause before Tommy stutters out a negative sound, because he really _wasn't_ jerking off. Not yet, at least. He was just kind of... touching. Touching isn't jerking off, and Adam didn't catch him jerking off. "So, yeah. No. I'm not. You just scared me, that's all." Tommy'll wait until Adam's asleep, then do his thing, plug into his iPod, and go to sleep, too. Tomorrow they have a hotel room, _yes._ Complete with mental fistpump.

"... okay." Adam's shirt disappear and Tommy can hear some rustling as he puts it on, then it's quiet again.

Tommy waits another ten minutes before checking to see how things are doing below his waist. He's still got the taste of Adam in his mouth, he's _sure_ of it, and if he closes his eyes, he can hear Adam's voice, the pant of his breath, and hey, look at that! There's something to work with. After another moment of listening to make sure Adam's asleep, Tommy licks across his palm and wraps his hand around his cock. Then he lets out a thin sigh. Just what he needs to go to sleep, with the promise of more tomorrow night.

"Tommy?" Adam asks, almost in conversational tone when Tommy's about four strokes in. "... I wasn't kidding."

"Are you _psychic?!_" Tommy hisses, thumping his other hand on the mattress. Dammit. "What am I supposed to do, then?" He pulls his hand out of his pants and then sticks them both down over the edge of the bunk so Adam can see them. "See? Not doing anything." Then he flops back onto his back, staring at the ceiling in the dark, wishing that maybe the bunks were big enough for two. Then maybe he wouldn't be doing this, and he and Adam could be doing _something._ Even just sleep.

He doesn't get an answer. But he can probably easily imagine the smile that Adam's wearing as he rolls to his side and finally falls asleep.

The hotel room is on the top floor; the floor that requires a key in the elevator to even get the car to stop there. Fancy. The valet opens the door and leads Adam and Tommy in and nods after dropping the bags and taking the tip Adam offers. Then Adam turns to the bassist with a smile. Just a smile.

It's the fanciest room that Tommy's ever been in, that's for sure. "I gotta have a shower. I feel like the floor of a cab." But Adam's smile stops him, just for a moment, and Tommy quirks a little one of his own. "What? Is it my hair?"

"Your hair looks fine. It just ... kind of feels decadent, doesn't it? This whole room to ourselves for almost twelve hours." Adam's smile grows wider. "Hopefully we can think of something to do."

"Almost twelve hours," Tommy echoes, grinning. A real bed and a real shower and a real TV that he doesn't have to share with anyone but Adam. For almost twelve hours. "I think we could come up with something." He unwinds his scarf (or Adam's scarf, he's not quite sure who it really belongs to, now) from around his neck and hangs it up, along with his coat, and his boots are kicked off near the door. "I'm not gonna want to get back in that bus after."

"I'll try to coax you back on," Adam tells him as he shucks his own outerwear. "There might even be a big tub in there. If there is, we can share?" He pulls his bag onto the bed to unzip it, rifling through his things for his toiletry bag. He has to turn away, see. Tommy's grin - rare as it is, is so bright. So bright.

"I'm gonna go find out." Stripping out of his clothes as he goes into the bathroom, Tommy calls back something about a beer from the barfridge, please? before there's the sound of water running. The tub's definitely big enough for two, and this is something else weird and new. It's intimate in ways that being gagged, blindfolded, or whatever else Adam's done to him, isn't. "I think I could swim in the tub, seriously."

"Awesome." There's a beer from the fridge in one of Adam's hands and other holds a bottle of water. He hands over the beer, then he sets down his water and goes rifling through the hotel-supplied tiny bottles, finding the bubblebath. "Yay." That's poured in and Adam starts to strip, stretching as he does. "It has jets too? God, I can't wait."

A bubblebath. Tommy can't even remember the last time he had one of these, but he cracks his beer open and takes a drink, the cold refreshing in contrast to the heat of the water. Watching Adam in little snaps is all he can manage, even now; seeing skin exposed with casualty is different than clothes stripped off in a need to be naked, and there's that same weird sense of intimacy. He'd agreed to be Adam's boyfriend, and this is part of that. He just... has to get used to it.

When he's naked (though still with heavy make-up and spiked hair), Adam steps into the tub behind Tommy, nudging him a little bit forward so he can slide to sit, gusting out a happy sigh as he pulls Tommy back against his chest. "Oh... _God_ yes. This is the shit."

"Like, don't have sex with the tub or anything," Tommy smirks, swishing his fingers through the water, tipping his head back against Adam's shoulder to drink his beer. "This is kind of swank though, isn't it. I bet this place even has room service. I'd seriously kill for a burger that isn't take out." Later. Now he can loaf in the tub with Adam, feeling just about every inch of his body up the line of Tommy's back. Not even the water can hide the way Tommy's arms break out in gooseflesh.

Letting his hands skate down Tommy's arms, Adam laces their fingers together, wrapping one set of arms around Tommy's waist. He could reach his water then, screwing it open one handed to take a drink. "We can order that if we ever get out of this tub. I ... don't see that happening any time soon."

"I think I could probably go to sleep in here. But then I'd drown and you'd have to find a new bassist." With Adam's arm around him, Tommy slouches lower into the water, letting it come right up to his chin, and he pokes his toes out on the other end of the tub. "I think I'm going to try and sleep for at least four of the almost-twelve hours we've got here. I can't believe we have a real bed."

"You don't think I'd save you? At least give you mouth-to-mouth?" Adam smiles against the curl of Tommy's ear. "Only four hours? God, I'm tempted to vote for eight. This is _nice_, isn't it? Mmmm." He shifts a little bit lower so that Tommy ends up more over him than against him. The tub's deep enough that they're still under water and he can touch the planes of Tommy's body, skating fingers over his ribs, the hollow of his stomach, the jut of his hipbone.

"It's really nice," Tommy answers, automatically turning his head into Adam's touch, feeling prickles of desire that are hotter than the water follow the path of Adam's fingers, and Adam can feel the quick push-pull of his breath as Tommy tries to ignore it. It feels good just to relax, with nothing - _nothing_ \- to do until tomorrow. It feels a little bit like a luxury, a payoff for the hard work they've done so far. And Adam's _touching_ him. Jeez.

That's part of the luxury. No sneakiness, no hurry, nothing but time. It's decadent. Adam's hand spans over the pan of Tommy's belly in a clearly possessive gesture before his palm slides lower, cupping his cock. That's his too. "You didn't ... did you?" The words are breathed directly into Tommy's ear.

It makes Tommy shudder, makes his eyes fall closed, and makes the bottom of his beer bottle chatter against the edge of the tub as he puts it down. "No." It comes out almost sounding like a question, but that's only because he's being fucking _assaulted._ And not in the bad way, oh hell no. But it's a combination of the water and Adam's touches, and- and he _knows_ what talking in Tommy's ear like that does! "No, I just ignored it and went to sleep." And dreamed about Adam, thanks very much.

"Good boy." Adam's hand curls around Tommy's cock, stroking it to full hardness before reaching lower, kneading his balls. "I can't wait to spread you out on that bed and lick you all over." With that, he bites into Tommy's ear.

"Soon?" Tommy asks, unable to help himself, sliding his own hand around Adam's, not to guide or move, but only to feel what he's doing. The bite forces out an undignified noise (okay, it's a squeak, shut up), and his hips jerk up, sending water sloshing. "Wow, sorry. I just- I didn't expect that. So, um. Soon? I'm clean if you are..."

"This tub is so amazing, though. I don't want go." Adam's voice is half-pout, half-amusement. He laces his fingers Tommy's, using both hands to stroke his cock. "You want me to fuck you, baby? I think I wanna fuck you all nice and slow. The kind that makes your head spin." He rocks his hips up, letting Tommy feel his own burgeoning erection.

Tommy clears his throat and nods, chin bobbing into the water, digging his heels down against the porcelain so he doesn't splash water around any more than he absolutely has to, and Adam's voice is still in his ear like his own phone-sex operator, but, live, and _so_ much better. What! He tried, once, and it was _weird._ Because he'd want to joke and the girl would want to be serious, and that was a phone bill he didn't want to explain to his mom. "You do make my head spin," he murmurs, leaning his head onto Adam's shoulder.

Adam's lips press against his ear and Tommy can feel his smile. "Guess we should get out, mm?" Not that Adam is moving. The tub is so _nice!_ "I'm glad you're here with me," he tells him. And he strokes again.

"Me too," Tommy answers, and the funny thing is, he _means_ it. Honestly. If they weren't doing this (being boyfriends, Tommy's brain helpfully provides), then Tommy's sure they'd at least be really good friends, and that's a cool realization. "You say when we get out, okay? You're the one hanging onto my dick." Which is only making him want to twist around in the water so they're chest to chest and Tommy can _kiss_ him instead of feeling those lips pressed right to his ear.

So the hand around his cock disappears. In fact, Adam holds on to the edges of the tub, even. He won't hold Tommy back if Tommy wants to get out. That too will give him the chance to enjoy the view. Even though he's tiny, Tommy has a fantastic body, lithe and lean and muscled in just the right way. Adam nudges at him with his knee. "So go, already."

Shaking bubbles off his skin, Tommy climbs out of the tub, giving himself a cursory scrub with the towel before wrapping it around his waist. Not that _that_ hides anything, really, but it's habit. Then he parks himself on the closed toilet seat to wait for Adam, because that would just be some kind of mean joke if Tommy went and flopped out on the bed and Adam kept at his bath. It'd be a tease.

As it is, Adam isn't rushing his way out of the bathtub. He likes it too much; the water is warm, still, the jets are nice. So he lingers, some, just a little, though he turns to look over at Tommy with a smile. "There's a phone by your knee. Why don't you order your burger?"

"Nah, I'll order it after." There's still the issue of his beer, and he leans over to snag it off the side of the tub. It's warm now, but at least it's not flat, and now that Adam's not all touchy-talky-_evil_, Tommy can chug it back and set it, empty, on the sink. "You want me to order you something, too? After?" There's a tiny pause before Tommy reaches forward and touches Adam's hair, his own expression serious and thoughtful. Steps toward comfort.

When Tommy touches him, Adam's eyes close just a little. Like a cat being petted. "Soup, maybe. Something creamy, like bisque or chowder or something. When it's so cold outside, I seem to be ravenous, you know?" But at least he's kept the weight he gained on the Idol tour off, so far. Fingers crossed.

"I always feel like, way too charged up to eat, you know?" Tommy leans back, knees spread, the warmth of the bathroom and just talking to Adam like they're friends has him relaxed, the towel flat over his hips. It also doesn't help that he's _tired_, and being on a bus does nothing to help with rest. "I'm not a very good cook. I mean, I make a mean canned soup, or like, Mac and Cheese? Tacos, shit like that." He realizes he's looking at Adam's shoulder, counting the freckles there.

"You're about two meals ahead of me. I work a _mean_ microwave." Slipping lower in the water, Adam smiles, his knees poking out. "I think I could live on sushi, though. Which I tell myself is a reason not to learn to cook. Thank God I no longer have to eat my weight in ramen noodles. Ugh. Did that a lot when money was really tight."

"I was living on Ramen noodles like, four months ago." Tommy smiles in answer. "And then this came along and I seriously don't even know what to do with it, most of the time." Yeah, he's done gigs, he's been in bands, _duh._ But never on the same level as this, with the exposure, the kiss at the AMA's (and thinking about it makes Tommy's stomach twist with something that's less anxiety and more desire than it's ever been) and how things have progressed from scary to serious, very fast. "I'm really glad to be in your band. Also, raw fish is the devil." All matter of fact as Tommy gets up to find his comb and do something to his hair.

"You're a man of very serious opinions," Adam tells him with a laugh as he finally climbs out, reaching for a towel to wipe himself down. He doesn't wrap it around himself, though, going to the sink instead to scrub the stage make-up off his face. This is a multi-step process that involves at least two products. "You don't know what to do with what?" He asks, belatedly, as he wipes his face.

Adam's so _natural_ when he's naked; as much as he is with clothes on, and it's kind of awesome to watch. Covering himself up is automatic; he's got sisters, and they've always been the _last_ people he'd ever want to see him naked. "People knowing who I am," Tommy answers, finally. "Having money. Being able to do pretty much whatever I want." Again he reaches out, but this time it's to touch Adam's bare hip, and suddenly, the towel isn't laying so flat anymore, so Tommy sits up straight.

"People have nicknames for you. The fangirls. It's sweet. If only kind of creepy. Like I told you, just ... don't take things too seriously, you know? It's not worth the heartburn." Adam holds out his hand, nodding toward the bedroom. "C'mon. Bathrooms are awesome, but bedrooms are better."

One hand holding the towel, the other holding Adam's, Tommy follows him to the bedroom, where there is a _real bed._ It practically fucking glows in the half-dark like some kind of tempting maiden (or tempting Adam) that makes Tommy want to lie out all over it, greedy. "Lambliff. Better than Ratbert, that's for sure. Do they know that it's... you know. That we're actually-?"

"I don't know. Does anybody know?" Adam climbs onto the bed and starfishes himself out on his back as he looks over at Tommy. "Do you care if they do?"

"I don't know." That's an honest an answer as Tommy can give right now, when he's not ready to say he doesn't care, but won't say he does care. "Seriously, do you have to take up the _whole_ bed? We've both spent the last week in moving coffins, and I'm seriously going to choke a bitch to get some of that mattress." Which means he flops down next to Adam, and hey, even with Adam starfished, Tommy manages to fit. "I think Monte knows. Lisa knows."

He fits even better when Adam rolls to his side, sprawling a leg over Tommy's leg. "Monte probably heard us. How does Lisa know?" Lying on his side, he can trace patterns along Tommy's skin: figure-eights on his chest, circling his nipples, tracing his ribs. Luxurious. It all feels luxurious.

"I told her." Adam's touch makes Tommy relax, go soft, give in to what he wants, even if it's just little patterns. "The day after the first time you took me to the club after the video. She asked why I was walkin' funny." He turns his head so his words are up against Adam's mouth, not quite kisses, but close. Adam can even feel the dart of Tommy's tongue when he dampens his lips. The towel doesn't do anything to hide the hair-trigger reaction to Adam touching him. He wonders if he'll ever get used to it.

"You told her?" Adam's eyes show his surprise. " ... wow." But Tommy's too close not to kiss. So Adam kisses him, hand cupping his cheek again. "What'd she say? What did you say?" Without giving Tommy a chance to answer, Adam rolls over him, blanketing Tommy with his longer body, hand sliding into his hair.

There's nothing but a sigh in there as Tommy's knees come apart, spreading himself open for Adam just as easily as the first time. Now he knows what to expect, how it'll feel, how _good_ it'll be alongside the hot and tight of it. The Glambulge that everyone seems to make a big deal out of is still just a little too much for Tommy to handle all at once, but Adam makes him take it, and he _likes_ it. _She asked and I told her. She said something like 'REALLY, NO SHIT' and bought me a coffee. That was the end of it. She didn't seem surprised._ His lips part against Adam's tongue.

Tommy's tongue is far more interesting than Lisa's seemingly non-reaction. Adam flicks at it with his own, sucks on it, too. "Mmm." His cock is getting hard against Tommy's thigh and Adam rocks his hips just a bit. "You feel good," he whispers, lips sliding to the column of Tommy's neck. "I'm gonna suck you off."

"Oh god," Tommy whispers, but he really means something like 'yes please', chipped fingernails scratching lightly against Adam's scalp. He's been _good._ He waited! He even stopped jerking off when Adam told him to, when it would have been too easy to get into the shower and take care of it there, or waited until Adam was _really_ asleep to do it. No, Tommy waited, and here's his reward.

And the reward comes when Adam has kissed his way down Tommy's body, sucking the occasional mark into his skin, sucking his nipples hard. But then he lingers over Tommy's hips for a moment, slanting a smile up at Tommy, before he bent down, angled Tommy's cock up and sucked him down in one breath, tongue licking along the underside on his way down, sucking hard on his way up.

Tommy's whisper turns into a groan, fingers curling into fists in Adam's hair, knees coming up as his hips shift against the bed. He feels every inch of his cock in Adam's mouth, against his tongue, against the roof of his mouth, and he glances down to see the way Adam's lips move on him. "Adam, Jesus."

There's a joke to be made there. How Adam isn't Jesus. Remember the old joke about the Jews? But it's not the time nor place, right? Plus there's an amazing cock to be sucked so that's what Adam concentrates on, the feel of Tommy's cock on his tongue, the bite of pre-come, cupping Tommy's balls, kneading them as he moves, one finger slipping down to rub at his hole.

It makes Tommy's cock jerk to complete attention in Adam's mouth; first the cup of Adam's hands over his balls, then the touch that makes his nerves sizzle in his body. "Yeah," he whispers, reaching down to hold the base of his cock for Adam. "Oh fuck, you're-" A million things, a million fireworks, compliments Tommy would shower if he knew the words. Then he lets go, giving the show back to Adam to do with it whatever he wants.

It's beautiful. It's like that Mika song (gotta love Mika): "We are _golden_." Adam braces his upper body on his hands and bobs his head and sucks and tastes and when he feels his lover's body get tight, he sucks even harder, wanting - even needing perhaps - to feel Tommy fall apart, just for him.

It makes Tommy think of some song his dad loved when Tommy was a kid - we are stardust, we are golden - Joni Mitchell or something like that, and that's the last clear thought he has before pleasure fires through him, bang-bang-bang like bullets or a sharp snare roll, and he comes on Adam's tongue, feet arched and fingers tight, and he barks out a sound that's in time with the jerk of his orgasm.

When he's milked him dry, Adam raises his head and he's got that 'cat ate the cream' look on his face as he settles on his side, cheek resting on on his hand, other hand covering Tommy's chest. "Better?"

After long moments of panting and trying to figure out what brain cells he needs to speak clearly, Tommy turns his head toward Adam, heavy-eyed and flushed. "Better," he croaks, then clears his throat. "Yeah, better." The way he touches Adam is soft, even, turning toward him to run his hand down Adam's bare side and down the inside of his hip. "Do you want-?"

"I'm okay. Maybe after all that sleep." Adam's stomach growls. "And food." He kisses Tommy, giving him a taste of himself. "That's for being good." Tommy can feel the curve of his smirk in the kiss.

The taste of come still isn't something Tommy likes, or is even used to, because, hi, last night? We all saw how that went, and Tommy's not particularly proud of it, either. "Food, sleep. See what else happens." Sleep would be as close as rolling over at this point, fresh out of the bath, sprawled out all sated and loose on a real bed. With pillows that actually have substance instead of being like shingles. But Adam's mouth occupies him for a moment. "You gonna call, or you want me to?"

"Ugh, I'm so tired, I don't even know." So, it's covers first, pulled up over both of them, right up to their noses. Then Tommy is spooned into Adam's chest. The bed under any other circumstances would probably be _okay_. It _feels_ magnificent. Adam's nose is pressed to the back of Tommy's neck. "We'll call in a minute," he murmurs.

But in a minute, Tommy's asleep, arm shoved under the pillow, shoulders hunched up and back curved to fit the contour of Adam's body, bangs loose down over his eyes, Adam's breath steady on his neck. It's _way_ more decadent than it should be, even if it's in a luxury suite. It's just a bed, but it's caught them both.

Don't tell anyone, but Tommy's got Ramen bowls tucked in his backpack in the livingroom, if they happen to get hungry, later.


	5. NYE FYE, Baby!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another kiss is shared with the world.

"What time is it, anyway?" Adam asks as he tosses his jacket over the end of the sofa. Thank God for car services because there was _no way_ he will be driving. Nope. Not when there are shots and champagne (and hoo is he going to paying for _that_ in the next twelve hours). Plus LP had been goading them on, which wouldn't normally have made any difference to Adam, but even Lisa was drinking. So. He might have told her he liked her boobs just a second ago.

Whoops.

His head is spinning as he throws himself down on the sofa. "I'm really, _really_ drunk."

And Tommy, who's _hammered_, flops himself out across Adam's lap. "You want more shots? I can get more shots. I can _totally_ get more fuckin' shots. I'm surprised I can still _walk._" Which means he rolls off of Adam and onto the couch beside him, slouched down low so he can dig in his pocket for money. "What d'you want, babyboy? Champagne? Shots? A-ny-thing-you-want."

"If either of us drink anymore, something horrible is bound to happen." Of this, Adam is sure. So he slaps in the general direction of Tommy's rummaging hands. "Just ... sit. Here. With me. It's officially 2010. We have New Year's resolutions to break." When he does find Tommy's hand, he laces their fingers together. "I'm ... I drank _so much_."

"I resolve," Tommy starts grandly, "To not stay up all night and watch TV. And to tweet more. And!" And! "To not drink myself to stupidity." Which is already broken, _obviously._ "Do you want to kiss me? I bet you do." Right here in front of everyone, with cameras and party-goers, the band, _everyone._ "What d'you want from me?" He's not grinning outright, but Tommy makes a _great_ case for looking naughty.

"Don't quote my songs to me, it makes you look ... " What was it that Tommy had said that one day? Adam's booze-soaked brain cells don't let him connect the dots there. Though when he does swivel his head to look at Tommy, he gets caught in how _pretty_ Tommy is, even in smeared eyeliner and the drunk-flush. "What would you do if I did kiss you here? Would you freak out?"

"Don't know," Tommy answers, shuffling the bottoms of his platform creepers on the floor. "I think 'cheesy' is the word you're looking for, by the way." He licks his lips, looking at Adam's mouth. It's not like Adam's never kissed him in front of the _universe_ before, right? And when Adam looks at him like that, all of Tommy's own booze-soaked brain cells turn off, entirely. "I think you should try." The color in his face deepens just a shade, and he adds, "Please."

He can see Adam's tongue move cross his lower lip as Adam leans in, hand finding its way to Tommy's cheek. His eyes even flutter closed and ...

That would explain why he misses Tommy's mouth. Adam ends up giving Tommy's cheek and the very corner of his mouth a very wet kiss.

"You're _licking_ me!" Tommy shoves at Adam until he realizes that maybe if he turns his head, their mouths will meet. So it's not exactly Adam that kisses Tommy, but Tommy that makes Adam kiss him, a hand flat on Adam's chest and the other limp by his side, on the couch. And just like that, when the kiss is as centered as it's going to get, Adam can feel the way Tommy's posture goes lax. Wanting and waiting. And let's not forget, smashed.

Both of them are smashed, remember. And when the kiss gets on track, it's hard to stop it. The rule of inertia, remember? What's in motion stays in motion. That and kissing Tommy is _addictive_ and sweet and it's really easy to open his mouth, urging Tommy's mouth open, tongue licking in. It's pornographic, what can he say? It's a skill.

So it takes a few long seconds for the catcalls and other noises, even the repetition of their names to sink in.

Tommy falls back, looking stunned and a little brainless, and he blinks at Adam before turning toward where he hears their names. Oh. _Oh._ There are _people_, and they're watching them. It makes Tommy's guts lock up before they turn to ice, and he's the one that _asked_ for it. The reality is obviously different than what goes on on the inside of Tommy's skull. In his head, he'd pictured Adam shoving him back onto the couch, climbing on, and doing what he wanted, fuck the rest of the world, right? "Did you notice pictures?" he whispers to Adam. "I can't believe I did that. I'm real fuckin' sorry."

"Um." Adam is blinking owlishly at the people who seem to be staring back him. "Happy New Year?" And he shrugs, _what can ya do?_ Heh. _For your entertainment?_ He and Tommy's hands are still laced together too. Would you look at that?! So, with some effort, he gets to his feet, tugging Tommy along with him. "Night, everybody." And without saying anything else, he gets his jacket and thankfully, Lane has his bag and Tommy's guitar and someone's talking, but who knows who, and they're ushered into the back of the waiting car. "... well, I think we settled any rumors that might've been floating around."

"Really? Did I do it?" In the car, Tommy leans against Adam, head on his shoulder. Oh, seatbelts, that might not be a bad idea, right? But it keeps him from wanting to turn against Adam, silently asking for more of those hot kisses. "Where are we going now? I seriously need something to eat, like, McDonald's or pizza or something, right? Otherwise I'm probably going to barf on your bed, and then you'll _hate_ me." He turns bleary, smeary eyes up to Adam. "What're we gonna do about... that?" The kiss, the hand-holding. The publicness of it.

"Um." This is a very big discussion for two people who are so very drunk. But then Adam shrugs. "Screw it. I don't care. If they want to talk about us, they can talk about us. Fuck it!" Ha! With big gesture and everything! "Do you really want to drive through McDonald's? You know their meat isn't even all meat, right? Did you watch Supersize Me? You'd never eat it again if you did. Seriously gross."

"I've seen it and I do not give a _fuck._" Tommy leans forward to look _very seriously_ at Adam. "I'm craving that dressing shit they put in it? The Thousand Island dressing that's been left in the sun for like, three days?" Right now, he's glad Adam can be so blase about being seen like that, and Tommy reminds himself that he's the one who started it. He's the one who'd said those dangerous words. _Do you want to kiss me? I bet you do._ He pokes the driver's shoulder and tries to make a convincing, blurry argument for going to McDonald's. "I'm _telling_ you. Big Mac on top of a shitload of booze? Sobriety. Or at least saving yourself the pain of puking in the morning."

"Just find a drive-through," Adam tells whoever's driving. He leans back against the seat and closes his eyes. Bad idea. He opens them again and looks at the ceiling instead. "... you're not freaking out?" he asked Tommy. "Is it because you're drunk?"

After a moment of contemplation, Tommy answers, "...yes." Because if he thinks about it too much right now, he'll probably toss his shots, and that's a) a waste of booze and b) _not_ his car. "I'm super fuckin' sorry. I'm gonna put that out there right now. 'cause I'm trying to, like." He scratches the side of his neck, looking out the window for the nearest Golden Arches. "I'm trying to do what you tell me to do." Not that Tommy's a fuckin' automaton, but being with Adam has been, what, a month? Barely? And not even as... as _boyfriends._

"... I didn't tell you to let me kiss you," Adam feels compelled to point out. "I ... didn't tell you that." For the record. "Am I supposed to be telling you what to do? I didn't know that. I should," Adam says with a grin blooming over his face. "Tell you to suck me off in the car."

"No, _no._" Tommy turns wide eyes on Adam, holding up both of his hands. "No, that's totally not what I meant. I _asked._ And you did it. And I thought I was going to like, bust the seam of my pants there for a second. And then..." The spell broke. People got involved and this thing that Tommy wants to keep private is now a whole lot less than that. And then... Adam _does_ tell Tommy to do something, and it kills any sort of coherent thought that's pickling itself in his liver. "Are the windows tinted?"

"Yeah. It's a car service," Adam answers, because that's obvious, right? Right. Anyway. Woah. They both lean to the side when the car turns into what must be the drive-through. Whoop! There goes the window, down. Adam leans back, gesturing to Tommy. "Order."

Tommy climbs over Adam's lap so he can talk out the window, almost like Adam's put him over his knee. Whatever, right? It's all about the Big Mac. "Hi! I will totally have two Big Macs - you want something, Adam? - big fries, big Coke." Then he slithers back into his spot and grins at Adam, drunk and crooked and bright. "You seriously want-? In the car? What about the driver?" Is he whispering? He should be. He's probably not. "Am I talking super loud? What if you make loud noises?" Because having his face licked open in front of everyone and then sporting giant wood, after? Isn't a big deal in comparison. Really.

Adam's hand covers his mouth and Adam just cackles at him. "You're hilarious! Oh my God, shut _up!_ One more big fries please. That's it."

There's a stunned silence before they're given a total and Adam still doesn't take his hand off Tommy's mouth. "You are not seriously going to eat two Big Macs. That's ... just not right."

"Mff-mff." Adam can feel Tommy's smirk against his palm, but Tommy makes no effort to move Adam's hand. What the translation of that really is, is _watch me._ He might be little, but that means shit when it comes to his appetite. After getting their food - Tommy has to pull away to pay for it, and he _insists_ on it, smacking at Adam's hands the same way Adam had smacked at his, at the party - he leans over to whisper against Adam's ear, "Do you really want me to blow you?"

"I better have you do that before you eat that so if you die, I don't miss out!" Adam laughs. "I mean, really. That's insane." Of course, he pulls his carton of fries out, pulling three out and chewing on them as if they are manna from heaven. Sure, these fries never die, but they taste _so good_. He slumps low in the seat to eat them.

What were they talking about?

Not sure. But there are burgers! And fries! And a Coke that's almost the size of Tommy's head! One Big Mac is put away in short order, and halfway through the second one, Tommy leans back against the seat, a hand over his stomach. "Done." Which means fries are next, and even though he went through a burger and a half, the fries that never die are demolished, along with most of the Coke. "And now I'm totally less than destroyed. See? Good shit. It's how I keep my girlish figure." Tommy pulls what _he_ thinks is a sexy pose, but it's sort of loose-limbed and comedic.

And adorable. Don't forget that. Adam needs to stop laughing or he's going to have stomach cramps. But he totally had no clue when he hired Tommy that Tommy was so _funny!_ Good grief. For someone who never smiles, he's hilarious. So much so that Adam has to grab his chin and kiss him.

Which is kind of gross, since they've both got fries on their mouths at the time. Ick.

Adam pulls away, nose wrinkled. "Ew."

That makes Tommy laugh, and he sucks back the remainder of his Coke to clean out his mouth. After belching against the inside of his elbow, he sits back with a sigh. "There, now I got Coke breath. Not real big on second-hand fries, though." He drops a leg across Adam's lap, running his fingers through his hair to push it away from his face. "We're going to your place?" He hopes so, because his own place has been pretty much untouched for the last couple of weeks, and hi, ew. That's why he's ordering Big Mac's instead of cooking something for himself. Ugh, Big Mac burps are _sick._ Adam looks _way_ better than any old fast food burger that's not even real meat.

"Yeah." Of course. Head swiveling on his neck, Adam looks over at Tommy, hands resting on his legs. "I have no idea why I find you attractive when you make sounds like that." But his smile is bright and teasing. If he reaches forward just a little bit, he can card his fingers through Tommy's hair, letting his fingers trail down his cheek. "Our first New Year's together."

Together. Tommy's one-and-a-half Big Mac's turn into a ball of cement, but he finds a smile for Adam. "Yeah. Our first New Year's. And don't tell me you've never let out a giant ripper before, you fuckin' liar. Just 'cause you're gay doesn't mean you're gasless." And just as much as the word 'together' scares Tommy, the idea of not being around Adam is _way_ worse, and he lifts his head a little into Adam's touch. "Are you gonna make me drink champagne out of your bellybutton, or something?"

"Um, ew? NO." But that makes Adam laugh _again_ and he taps on Tommy's nose. "Belly buttons are gross. Plus I think we've drunken - shit - _drank_ way more than we should've. Way more. Are we nearly home?"

The driver tells them they're about fifteen minutes away still.

"Home seems so _far away_." Adam deflates into the seat. "Ugh."

"Drunken." Tommy hides his laugh by ducking his head down again, and the tap on the end of his nose kind of does something really weird to him. It makes him keep his head down, almost in deference to what could really be... What could be Tommy being really drunk and reading things the wrong way. He's done it before, remember? After the party where that Cassidy guy had made pot brownies and Tommy had-

_Suck. Make them wet for you. Fuck yourself on me._

Well, that clears up any issue that Tommy might have had about having drunk-dick. "What can we do in fifteen minutes?" It comes out all low and husky, an offer that's completely open.

What's that? Adam looks over at Tommy a bit more attentively through the haze of his drunkenness. "I don't think we can solve world hunger," he tells Tommy. "Or the New York Times crossword." Ha! But he tilts Tommy's chin up to look at him eye to eye. "We can totally make out, though. C'mere." Onto his lap. _Pat-pat_. Right there.

"'kay." What else did Adam say? Something about eating the Times crossword? It doesn't matter; Tommy climbs onto Adam's lap, straddling him, and it's there he stays, head bowed forward, elbows pressed against the back of the seat, lips just a breath away. He wants Adam to take it.

Rawr. Adam skates his hands up Tommy's arms, over his shoulders, along the cord of his neck until he can cup Tommy's jaw (ugh, his jawline is to die for). Then all Adam has to do is tip his chin up and there's Tommy's mouth. No missed mouths this time! Nope, this is a bull's eye. And God, when their mouths fit together, it's kind of insane how well it works. How all Adam needs to do is trace his tongue along the seam of Tommy's mouth to get him to open, so he can lick inside.

With his elbows still in the seat, Tommy's hands come in to bury themselves in Adam's hair, and his toes curl downward against the insides of his boots as his body moves, too, sliding up so they're touching as much as they can. Yeah, what? An hour ago, he'd been kissing Adam in front of everyone, _hammered_, half an hour ago he'd been freaking out with the idea of being boyfriends, of this thing being real for everyone to see. Oh yeah, and Big Mac's. Definitely Big Mac's. And now he's pliant against Adam, taking what's given to him and returning it as best he can.

Somehow, Tommy's shirt gets pulled out of his pants and Adam's hands end up bracketing Tommy's waist, where his skin is soft over twitching muscle or solid bone. When the kiss deepens, Adam's fingers dig into Tommy's back, his hips pushing up. Oof. "Your mouth is amazing," he murmurs between presses of their mouths. "Your fucking _mouth_."

The words are there even before Tommy realizes his brain gave the go-ahead to speak. "You wanna fuck my mouth? Is that what you're saying?" Adam's hips come up, Tommy's come down, and he sucks a sharp breath before colliding lips with Adam, all car-crash-love whatever it is that AFI just released. It's _so good_, the album _and_ the kiss, and a hand falls from Adam's hair to the side of his neck.

That wasn't what Adam said, in case anyone's keeping track. But once Tommy _says_ that, of course that's what Adam wants. But it's also what they get to do most frequently. Have blow-job, will travel. No, they're heading back to Adam's bed and they can sprawl out so he wants _more_ than that. He wants it _all_. His dull nails scrape down Tommy's back as he whispers, "I wanna fuck you into the bed."

Tommy makes a sound that's half of a curse and half _yes_, and his back arches under Adam's fingernails. It isn't a push of his hips this time; it's a _grind_ that makes him groan into Adam's mouth and makes his fingers curl into a fist in Adam's hair. Adam makes Tommy _easy_, hot, and his cock feels impossibly hard against the inside of his pants, aching. "Yeah."

Somehow, they're dropped off at Adam's house and you can tell where they go by the trail of clothes from the foyer, up the stairs and to the bedroom. By the time Adam pushes Tommy onto the bed, they're both naked save Tommy have one sock still on (socks are the devil). Adam climbs over him, pinning his wrists to the bed as he kisses him, teeth digging into his lip, hips rocking.

That socked foot hooks up behind Adam's knee, body arching up under Adam's grip. Tommy groans, faint and slurry, eyes closed and mouth open against Adam's kisses. God, he wants this _so bad_, and his fingers curl down on themselves in an effort not to tug away to grab greedily at Adam's skin.

There's lube _somewhere_. Somewhere close even. And Adam even manages to get to it without falling off the bed, thank God. And he's drunk enough that when he pushes his middle finger up inside of Tommy, Adam groans, hips flexing as well. "Gonna fuck you good, baby. Gonna make you feel so _good_, yeah."

"Happy New Year," Tommy breathes. "Happy fuckin' New Year." His other heel skids against the bed, arms corded with the effort not to pull. "Then do it." Is he ready? He feels really fucking ready, at least in his head. God only knows that he's had so much to drink that he can barely feel anything other than the heat twisted hard around his guts. It won't hurt. It won't.

"Gimme a minute," Adam tells him, twisting two fingers in. He's drunk, he's not _stupid_. His cock is big, remember? "Gotta get you ready for me." It gives him a chance, too, to slide his teeth down Tommy's neck and suck a nice, bright mark into the hollow of his throat. And another one. And _another_ one. Yeah. _Mine_.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tommy whispers, agreeing to Adam's advice and asking him for more; a decision swept drunkenly from one side to the other. His knees fall apart as his kisses go breathy, and it's a good thing Adam scrapes his teeth down his throat because then he can _feel_ the sound Tommy makes, rough and low in his throat. He had agreed to what Adam had to say, _I want you to know that you're mine_, between hard words and _hard_ sex, and he hasn't gone back on it.

A few more presses of his fingers inside and Adam can pull them out, rub the rest of the lube on his cock and shift just a little and _push_. "Shiiiiit," he hisses, back arching as he slides in, inch at a time. "Yeah. Oh, fuck, yeah." More, a bit at a time, til he can feel his hips bump right up against Tommy's ass. "Yeah."

Tommy heaves out a sharp sound, hands free now to curl around the back of Adam's neck and his bicep, and his thighs come up to hug Adam's hips. He feels all jarred and loose, a combination of Adam, who's like a _drug_, and the disgusting amount of booze they put back tonight. "Oh yeah," he answers, head back against the pillow, feeling the way his body takes Adam and then _holds_ him, like he can't quite let go. "_God._"

There's a moment before Adam starts to move and when he does, it's with a liquidity that has nothing to do with booze. He groans into Tommy's ear, weight braced on his hands. "Uh-huh." When he closes his eyes this time, he's not dizzy, but he can _feel_ the way his cock moves in Tommy and it's _amazing_.

Adam _knows_ how to do this, and he's- it's-

Tommy turns his head to grab Adam's mouth with his, and lets himself be moved by Adam, feel the push and pull of their bodies. The word Adam had used: Together. He manages to unfist his fingers from Adam's arm to skim his hand down between them to stroke his cock, and Adam can feel the clench of muscle around him as much as in the strain of him under Adam. "Uhh-"

"Uh-huh." Pushing off with his toes, Adam gets to where he can rest on his knees and angle down _into_ Tommy and it's fierce and hot and makes him breathless. Harder, too, now, letting gravity do at least some of the work as he makes noises that he takes no responsibility for, mixed with words like "fuck," and "yeah," and "like that."

Like that, Tommy agrees, in nods and gasps and cries that get sharper and harder, legs hugging Adam's waist. "Can I come? Please, fuck, _please_\- I want to, I'm fuckin' close-" He jerks his hand away so the only friction he gets is from what comes between their bodies. Adam can feel how hard Tommy is, how hot, how the tip of his cock is wet. "_Adam._"

"Fuck!" That's part of the appeal of sex, see. To Adam, anyway. The visceralness of it. Some people don't like messy, or whatever, and he gets that, see, but it's more here. Seeing Tommy struggle for control, seeing and feeling how his body responds. All of that has Adam clenching his teeth and fucking in harder. "Come on, then," he urges. "Come on. Lemme feel you _come_."

It's as if the words themselves _yank_ it out of Tommy, and he growls out a rough sound, head ducked down and forehead against the side of Adam's neck as his body clenches up and lets go, coming in jerks that steal his breath and turn his brain to so much useless jello holding up the inside of his skull. _Come, come, lemme feel you come_. And now it doesn't feel like he'll stop, and Tommy wonders for half a second if this'll keep him from having a hangover tomorrow. But whoops! That thought's gone as bare nerves feel every inch of Adam as he keeps moving.

There's only room for a breath before Adam comes and it kind of feels like it blows the top of his head right off. That's a good thing. He throws his head back and ruts in, riding it through and somewhere in the middle there, he realizes he never put a condom on and his hips jerk back. But it feels so _good_, he can't stop. "Sorry," he gasps out. "Sorry. God. Sorry," even as he's still moving.

"Off, _off._" In a flash of a second, Tommy goes from fucked to the point of bliss, to screaming, _crushing_ panic. "Get _off_ me." He didn't even _realize_, not until he felt it, not until he heard Adam's apology. "I gotta- just." The sudden movement dizzies Tommy, and he scrabbles nearly off the edge of the bed, watching Adam. "You."

"I'm _sorry_." Nearly knocked off balance, Adam scrabbles, first, for something to hold onto, then with his other hand, for Tommy. "I'm sorry. I'm _clean_ and I never do that. Ever. I ... I'm _clean_." And he adds, belatedly. "Don't freak out."

But Tommy's backing up. "I just gotta clean up. I just. I'll. I'm gonna go to the bathroom." The mattress runs out and one of Tommy's feet hits the floor. The socked one, actually, and after that, his other foot lands, and there he goes, nearly scuttling toward the bathroom. "I'll just be right back." Plus, he's fairly certain that a Big Mac and a half, a box of fries, a huge Coke and _all_ the alcohol they polished off tonight are about to make a reappearance. "Just wait." Then he's gone from the room, the bathroom door slammed shut after him, giving him the privacy to figure out what the fuck just happened, and how. They _both_ know better.

There's nothing hear for a long time, at least from Adam's side of the door, though gradually, there are footfalls and he says, through the door, "... are you okay?"

"I'm not puking, so that's a good start." And the door isn't locked. "Ever yacked up a Big Mac? It just tastes like dressing, and it's disgusting." Tommy's voice is level, even if the words are still slurry, and Adam can hear running water. Whether it's Tommy trying to clean up or him drinking from the faucet (come on, _everyone_ does it, do _not_ look at him like that) isn't exactly clear, but after that, Tommy cracks the door open. "We shouldn't have done that."

Bracing himself on the doorway, Adam blinks at him. "No, I know. I ... I mean we were - are - really drunk. I ... but that's not an excuse." There's a chance that if he reaches through the door, Tommy will slam it on his fingers. Adam shudders just at the thought. "Um. I _am_ clean, though. Really."

"Can you grab my shorts?" Tommy's not sure where they even ended up after staggering through the doorway and upstairs. "I am, too. I mean, clean." He steps away from the door, so if Adam wants to come in, he can. Or he can get Tommy's shorts so he's not standing all naked like an idiot. "Aw fuck, I'm-" And then Adam can hear the spin of the toilet paper roll. God. Fuck.

Oops. Adam winces in sympathy as he looks around for a pair of teeny tiny boxers. Turns out they're by the door - not too far, thank God. He picks them up (not even nearly falling over either, go him!) and he brings them back, holding them out. "... sorry."

"Stop saying that," Tommy says tersely, taking the shorts and stumbling into them. "I freaked 'cause... I haven't since like, the second time I ever got laid. Then my mom found out and rubbers were on the grocery list." He can't look at Adam as he says this, leaning his hands on the edge of the sinktop, looking down into the sink below him. "I didn't- It's just." Then Tommy shakes his head. "Let's just go to bed, huh? Okay? I'm gonna have a pisser of a hangover." And he can't think about this right now. Please, don't make him.

"... okay." Adam lets Tommy past him so he can go into the bathroom then, washing himself off, his face and his crotch. And even though it's dark, when he comes back, his face is clean and he crawls into bed, settling under the covers before reaching for Tommy. "S - um. Are you all right?"

The silence is long and dark before Tommy answers in a question of his own. "You want the truth, or do you wanna hear what you wanna hear?" He's replaying everything after they'd crashed on the couch together at the party, and realizes just exactly what happened between then and now. Things slipped out of control for _both_ of them. "It's not your fault, okay?"

"You think I ask when I don't really want to know?" With a sigh, Adam rolls to his back, an arm thrown over his eyes. "It is my fault, because I fucked you, but we're both clean so it's ... okay, I guess. I don't even know." He'd drunk some water in the bathroom and can feel it sloshing around in his stomach, urgh. "Are you freaking out?"

"Yup. That was the fuckin' weirdest feeling I've ever had." Tommy turns toward Adam to look at him in the dark. "It was fuckin' awesome." The sex, he means, because someone else's come in him is going to be a weird thing that he needs to get used to. "I mean, until... that. That was _weird._ I'm sorry." Weird-weird-weird, Tommy's new favorite word. "I'm still your... you know. ...right?" He's still Adam's?

"You're still my what?" Adam lifts his arm to turn his head, fingers finding their way back into Tommy's hair. "Boyfriend? ... yeah, because of that more than ever, really." He shrugs again. "How I feel for you hasn't changed. I mean, if you want to go back to using rubbers after we didn't, that's fine ... I'm not sure I see the point of it, beyond that it weirded you out to have come in your ass."

They'd just give up being safe, just like that? "What if I get pregnant?" Tommy mutters, and maybe it feels kind of good to make a joke when his insides still feel like a mess of snakes. "I do kinda wanna go back. It's... it's a lot in a really short time frame." Then Tommy's face is buried in the pillow, hiding the way he feels all feverish and scared. He's a _dude_, and dudes don't get scared.

That gives him a chance, too, to miss the way Adam rolls his eyes, then closes them. "Fine. That way we don't have to worry about you having ass-babies." Ugh, he's not as drunk as he was and is now getting to that maudlin stage. Boo. None of it's that deep. Adam pulls the covers up to his chin and turns onto his side, away from Tommy. Maybe it's better to sleep.

"You gotta watch Tenacious D with me," Tommy says to the pillow, and when he lifts his head, it's with a frown. Okay, Adam wants to sleep like that. Tommy turns his back, too, leaving a space in the bed between them that's bracketed by bent legs and curved backs. "How I feel about you hasn't changed, either." Spoken to the dark as much as the invitation to watch The D had been to the pillow, and Tommy's eyes focus on nothing in particular. "I trust you."

"It doesn't seem like it sometimes."

But Adam stops himself before he says anymore. It's fucking New Year's Eve (day, whatever) and he needs to quit being pathetic. But when it's late and he's drunk-verging-on-hungover and his boyfriend keeps freaking out, well, he gets _tired_ and he feels sorry for himself. _Adam Lambert scares everybody!_ Ugh. Sighing, he reaches back, fingers brushing Tommy's hip. "Night."

Without even thinking about it, Tommy shifts into the touch. "Night." There's so much more he wants to say; he wants to tell Adam that he's _trying_, but being with a guy isn't something he's done. Or being _out_, when six months ago, he'd been straight. Or unprotected sex with _anyone_, let alone someone who came in _him._ It's not worth the words right now, but the words - _other_ words - that are right on the verge of being spoken... aren't. The words that are the biggest reason for Tommy being scared.


	6. Drag You Down With Me

"So." Adam stands in front of Tommy, his hands on his hips, but no anger to the set of his shoulders. If anything, he looks ... resigned. He takes a deep breath, shoulders heaving and he says, voice quiet, so no one else can hear them, "I, um, I think we need to break up."  
_ _ _ _

See, what happened was this.  
_ _ _ _

"I just can't deal with you right now. I can't. If you're going to freak out? DO IT SOMEWHERE ELSE."

Adam shouted. He never shouts. But he shouted, even pointing at the door, standing his whole height, towering over Tommy in his anger. "Get out of my face. I'm serious."

Tommy's expression is narrow and sharp, and before he can say anything else, _freak out_, like Adam's saying, and getting sucked back into this fucked-up thing that he's in. It's not like he even _thinks_ about his reactions; they just happen and he doesn't mean to! He's _trying_ here, okay? As hard as he fucking can, and Adam _doesn't understand._ "Fine. _Fine._" He takes _his_ scarf (yes, it's his, for the record) and wraps it around his neck, yanking up the zipper on his hoodie. "Fuck you, Adam Lambert."

It seems like a pretty fucking dramatic way to end a fight, and Tommy shoves his feet into his shoes and... leaves. The door opens, the door slams shut, and maybe Tommy speeds on his way out of Adam's fucking neighbourhood and back to his apartment. Fuck _you_, Adam Lambert.  
_ _ _ _

Then two days before that, there was this.  
_ _ _ _

"Holy shit," Adam groans against the back of Tommy's neck before rolling to his side on a heap on the bed. "That was ... so good..." He's on his back and he grabs Tommy around the middle so he falls too and he kisses his hair. "I love fucking you, by the way."

Tommy pants for breath, his arm over his eyes, and answers, hoarse and unthought, "I fuckin' love you." No. _No!_ That's not what Adam said, oh fuck. He said something about fucking, not something about love, and Tommy just opened his mouth and said something _insanely_ stupid. "Sorry, I- no. I heard you wrong." Twisting around to face Adam means his muscles twitch and jerk with residual effort and pleasure, but the expression on his face is nothing short of terrified.

"You... don't love me?" Adam asks, looking as shocked as he feels, as short of breath as he feels. "Oh." Shit. His chest feels all tight and he can't feel his fingers. Maybe that's from the sex? Speaking of ... He reaches down with a grimace and pulls off the condom, dropping it into the trashcan before he stares back at Tommy. "You... " Something tells him to let it go, but he still can't catch his breath.

"I didn't say that." The words come in a rush, trying to fix what he's just said, maybe take it back, without panicking entirely. "I heard you wrong, that's all. You were saying something about fucking, which was _awesome_, okay? Okay? It was. I'm sorry, it just slipped out, you know? Do you want a b-" No, Adam wouldn't want a beer, why in God's name would he want a beer? He never drinks beer. "-something to drink?"

"No." Adam sits up, throws his legs over the side and without saying anything else, goes to the bathroom, half-closing the door behind him. He turns on the shower, then turns it off and goes for the bathtub instead, stoppering it and then starting the water on hot with bubble bath. Screw it. He deserves a bath because his love life is a mess.

What the fuck just happened? Tommy's off the bed and following Adam, because, what the _fuck?_ At the bathroom door, though, he stops, a hand up as if ready to push. "Hey? Adam? I was just-" The words stop when Tommy presses his lips together, then bites on the insides of them. "What the fuck, I'm sorry, okay? I don't even know what I did, and I'm sorry." He'd just misheard what Adam said, that's all. He did _not_ take back what he said, so Adam can't accuse him of that.

Stepping into the tub, Adam sinks down into the water with a hiss; it's _really_ hot. Then he settles with his arms around his knees. It takes him a while to turn around. When he does, though, his face shows everything and it's not the prettiest picture. He's tired and confused and more than a little hurt. "Did you mean what you said?"

It's like a chant - I didn't take it back, I didn't take it back - before Tommy says, like a fucking parrot, "I didn't take it back, did I?" He's still kind of lurking outside the door, and when the vent comes on with a surprise against his right calf, Tommy goes and grabs his shorts. "I'm sorry. I thought you said- something. And you didn't. And I just kind of said something back. I never said I didn't mean it."

Somehow, that just seems to make Adam feel worse rather than better. How is that even possible? He rests his chin on his knees and sighs silently. In a voice barely low enough to be heard even in his own ears over the rush of water, he says, "yeah, well, I love you, too." And he shuts his eyes.

Okay, then. They've both said it and... now Tommy's panicking. Fuck. _Fuck._ "I should go home tonight." Because that's the best thing to say, _right._ And he can't take that back either, but maybe he can stumble out something less wrong. "I mean. It's just... that's a _big thing._ And we- _I_\- gotta think about it. Don't be mad, okay?" After his shorts is his shirt, then his jeans, and all of a sudden, Tommy's got all of his clothes on, and Adam's still in the bath. "I'm really sorry."

Adam doesn't turn around, though. Or even seem to acknowledge that Tommy's spoken.  
_ _ _ _

Before that, about a week or so, give or take, there was this thing.  
_ _ _ _

"I, well, I've been super busy," Adam tells Jim Cantiello, who, if Adam's honest, will say creeps him out, but anyway. He smiles and tries to dodge the "are you seeing anyone" question. But Jim is like a slobbery dog with a bone.

"Are you telling me you haven't dated _anyone_?!"

Only someone who knows him would see that Adam is rolling his eyes and biting back something scathing. "I'm not _celibate_ if that's what you're asking." And immediately, he regrets that, big time. He bumbles his way out of the conversation and moves away. When he sees Tommy, he winces. _Sorry_.

Tommy glances down at his hands, feeling the tips of his ears heat. And yeah, he can feel it with all that metal in there. Now, Adam's definitely not celibate, and he's seen the rumours _everywhere_ about them, between the AMA's (which Adam _still_ gets questioned about, god) and New Year's... fuck.

"So we're just fucking?" is the first thing Tommy comes out with when they're alone. "You're not celibate, huh? Glad to know that you're getting laid." He whips his scarf off and throws it at a chair, his sweater landing on top in a second throw. "Do you actually give a shit about what you- what _we've_ done?"

"I'm sorry?!" Adam draws himself up to his full height. "Are you - wait. I can go back out there, totally, and out us to Glambert696969 or whatever the fuck he calls himself. Sure. Let me go do that." He takes a step toward the door before whirling around. "Don't you ever even _dare_ accuse me of not thinking about you, or about us. Ever."

It's bullshit that Adam uses the fact that he's like, six inches taller than Tommy at _least_, to be intimidating. Fuck _that._ "How about you go and fuckin' say something like 'Yeah, I'm seeing someone, but we're trying to keep it _private_', because _that's what it is._" By now, Tommy's yelling, getting in Adam's space, expression narrow, challenging, hurt. "I'm working really fuckin' hard at making this fucking okay and you- fuck. Go, I don't care. Say whatever the fuck you want. You will anyway."

The silence between them stretches out for a long time before Adam says anything at all, then he only says, "... I don't even know where to start with all you said." So he just ... doesn't.  
_ _ _ _

So, that's about the size of it. Which brings us back to ...  
_ _ _ _

"So." Adam stands in front of Tommy in the other room as a party goes on somewhere else, his hands on his hips, but no anger to the set of his shoulders. If anything, he looks ... resigned. He takes a deep breath, shoulders heaving and he says, voice quiet, so no one else can hear them, "I, um, I think we need to break up."

Tommy only looks away, and that's just the beginning of turning around, turning away, and somewhere in there, there's a muttered "fine", before he's making to push past Adam and go toward the door, back to the party. At least there's beer there, maybe - probably - some pot, and he can try and squash whatever it is in his guts that makes him want to either be relieved that it's done, or make him want to beg Adam to change his mind.  
_ _ _ _

Just like that. Simple, right? _Wrong_. Fucked up is as fucked up does, right?  
_ _ _ _

At the party, Adam huddles up with Cassidy and lookee who's there: Brad. The ex-Brad. That Cheeks guy. And every time Adam happens to catch Tommy's eye, there's this hurt there that he can't quite mask. But he turns back to the gays (sorry, Cassidy, queers) and he drinks more. So that by the time the party is wrapping up, Adam Lambert is _Plastered_, slumped in a chair, holding Cassidy by the wrist.

Tommy's lying on the grass in the front yard looking up at the sky. Lisa came out to talk to him a little while ago, but he'd waved her away. It's just kind of better that he's by himself, when Adam's inside and Tommy's away from those cool blue-grey eyes.

"So, it went bad." Cassidy states the obvious, obviously. He pulls his wrist from Adam's hold to wrap an arm across the backs of his shoulders. "You want to have a pajama party at my place tonight?"

"I am _so drunk_," Adam tells him, eyes big and owlish. "He said he loved me. Kind of. He said ... a lot of horrible things. Ugh. It went badly. Take me home?"

"I know you're drunk, baby. What kind of horrible things? I can do something about that, if you want." Cassidy's only more sober than Adam by a drink or three, but he gets them both up and fishes out his phone. "So." Before he dials, because Cassidy needs to make things clear. "He said he loved you, then said shit, and you dumped him. Right?"

"...something like that, yeah." Adam gave up trying to explain, following the cracks in the ceiling instead, as they walk, his boots dragging along the floor. "Am I a horrible person? Like terrible who should never date because he fucks up people's lives?"

"One foot ahead of the other, come on..." He urges Adam's head onto his shoulder, because once he stops concentrating on those cracks, Cassidy's fairly certain Adam'll have a crash-course in sobriety. "You're not a terrible person. You're crazy high-maintenance, but you're not terrible. I don't have terrible friends, come on. It's bad for my reputation." The phone! Right! They're supposed to call a cab! Cassidy dials, listening to it ring. "Brad's not fucked up. Drake's not fucked up. Tommy's just a fuckjob. _Hi._ I need a taxi." The address is given and the phone's slipped into his pocket. "Speak of the devil." The lawn gnome, where he belongs. On the lawn.

"What?" There is sky where there was ceiling and it takes a minute for Adam to reorient himself. Plus his head is really heavy, too. Woah. Then he sees Tommy. "Oh, shit. Is he _dead_?! Did I kill him?! Oh my GOD!"

"Breathe," Cassidy warns. "You're not throwing up sugary booze on my outfit. I'm not forgiving you for something like that, ever." He looks at Tommy for a long moment, then swings his head around to look at Adam again. "He's not dead. I think he blinked. Come _on._ He can get himself home, okay? We should go."

"I'm fine," Tommy clarifies, not moving. He's got his hands folded behind his head and it's pretty fuckin' comfortable, except for the part where he thinks his ass and the backs of his shoulders are wet from the ground. Nice. "I can get myself home. I'm a big boy."

Adam stares a while longer, then remembers - they broke up because Tommy was an ass. That's right. So, he leans more heavily on Cassidy and doesn't say anything stupid like _forget what I said, come home with me, I love you._ And Cassidy, because he's such a good friend, gets Adam home and into bed even and stays with him, even cooking breakfast the next morning and listening to Adam grieve over Tommy and talk about how if he eats the eggs that Cassidy made, he'd throw up for sure. See? Cassidy is a great friend.  
_ _ _ _

The end.  
_ _ _ _

Haha. You thought it would really end there? But this is just where things start to get _Interesting_. Because it's not like Adam _fires_ Tommy, right? So, maybe a week passes, something like that, and the band is rehearsing for a new appearance. Which means that Adam and Tommy are together again.  
_ _ _ _

Holding his mic stand, Adam turns to Monte. "Again, from the top?"

Monte, long ago attuned to Adam and Adam's moods, just nods, counts off to LP and they start again, a cover of the old Fever, blending into the new Fever and Adam lets himself get into the performance of it and swivels on his heel and right there is Tommy and the words kind of stopper in his throat. Shit.

Tommy's watching his fingers on the fretboard, but he knows the exact moment that Adam looks at him, not just from the direction of sound, but he knows those eyes and how they feel on his skin. He's going to play as long as they're supposed to, if Adam picks up the words again - _fever, when you touch me, fever when you hold me tight_ \- or if the song falters out and they have to start again. Adam himself gets a glance out of the corner of Tommy's eyes.

"Sorry." Adam runs a hand through his hair. "I, uh, I think I need a break, actually. Five minutes? Five minutes. Thanks." And he rights his mic stand and walks out, in the direction of coffee, or tea, or... something that's not Tommy Joe Ratliff.

"I'm going out for a smoke." Tommy puts his bass on its stand and pats at his pockets. Yep, one lighter, one pack of cigarettes, and he's next out the door, fast enough that he can catch up with Adam. "I'm not the one being unprofessional." Because he's avoiding it, alright? By not looking at Adam and not letting Adam get close enough, and... watching him out of the corners of his eyes, wanting to simply go over and _lean_ on him. Let's be honest.

"Oh my God, fuck you. You came running to catch up to me to tell me that? Fuck you, fuck you, fuck _you_," Adam hisses, wheeling on him. "Fuck you. I can't believe I even wasted time thinking -- I -- never mind. I'm getting tea. Fuck you, Tommy Joe, Fucking ... just stay away from me. Just fucking stay away from me."

"I was _actually_ going out for a cigarette, but I figured that since you were the one that _dumped_ me, then you could handle it. Fuck, _I_ am, and-" Tommy's teeth snap shut, and he moves past Adam to go outside the building and light up. It fucking _sucks_ to feel like this, okay? It sucks (and probably hurts) as much as when Dimebag took a bullet. Christ. Tommy's bullet has a name, though, and there's no guessing as to whose it is.

"You can't dump someone who was never in the relationship to begin with." Adam's words follow Tommy out.  
_ _ _ _

The performance, despite the behind the scene drama, goes really well. That probably isn't surprising. The press eats it up; Adam is a genius! A true showman, blah blah blah. The fangirls on Twitter bemoan the lack of "Lambliff." Adam bemoans the lack of Lambliff, actually. Anyway, let's skip ahead another week.  
_ _ _ _

The closet smells like antiseptic lemon, but Adam tries not to notice that. Instead, he buries his nose in Tommy's hair as he pushes two fingers inside him. "Jesus Christ," he whispers hotly. "You're so tight."

"You know when the last time was," Tommy hisses back, canting his hips back against Adam's fingers. "It feels fucking good." One of his own hands comes up to bury itself in Adam's hair so Tommy can turn and smear a kiss against his mouth. "How do you want me?" Because right _now_ is going to happen, and Tommy's not going to ruin whatever this is by saying something stupid. Whatever this might be, it _isn't_ fighting or ignoring each other or any of that fucking bullshit.

"Just-- Move your leg a little, up? Yeah, mm, like that." That way, Adam can use spit and angle his cock just right and cant his hips forward and he's in and it's hot and tight and not fighting and so _good_ and how many times did he and Brad fuck after they broke up?

Shit, best not to think about that. Instead, Adam wraps an arm around Tommy's waist and pushes forward and pulls him back and murmurs against his ear, "God, you feel _good_."

Tommy's groan is stifled against his bicep as he braces his own weight with one hand against a shelf or something, and he tips his head back onto Adam's shoulder to breathe when his lungs squeak for air, rocking back against Adam as much as he can. "Oh. _Yeah,_" before his words slide away into low, breathy sounds. Nothing between them, not even the words they've bristled at each other. It's so much _easier_ this way.

It's ridiculously loud in the little space, the slap of skin against skin. Adam gets his hand around Tommy's cock and is stroking him too and doesn't try to hold back his moans, either. And it's been a few weeks, remember, so he can be forgiven for coming really quickly, with a body-long shudder, his mouth pressed to the curve of Tommy's neck.

It takes another second for Tommy to come, and it's a combination that confuses him, even as he's gripping the shelf with one hand and Adam's hair with the other: it's Adam's mouth, no shit, right? But it's the suddenness of it, and the jolt of Adam coming in him. It had freaked him out last time, the _only_ other time, but right now, the relief at being taken like this drowns out anything else. "We gotta. Before we get caught."

"Fuck." Adam doesn't let go, but he does pull his hips back and hey, a benefit of being in a supply closet! Bunches of paper towels and he can rip a pack open and eesh, they're rough. He hands some to Tommy too, finally releasing his hold on him and stepping back.

For some reason, he can't look at Tommy. But he says something before Tommy can. "This doesn't mean - you know?" And he's pulling up his underwear and pants.

There goes the relief. _I'm not _ celibate_ if that's what you're asking._

"No. It doesn't mean anything." Tommy cleans up and yanks his own gitch back into place, and it feels like his face is _really_ red when he reaches for the doorknob. "You ready?"

_No_. "Yeah," Adam says, a ball of soiled paper towels in his hand. Classy.  
_ _ _ _

Whoops.  
_ _ _ _

"So, like, how did you know that Katy was ... the one?"

"Adam," Kris chuckles over the line. "You only ask me that when you're doubting the validity of the idea of true love, or something like that, I can't remember the words you used the first time. And the second time. I just knew. That all the hassle was worth it. Which is what I told you the other two times."

"Am I that transparent and pathetic?"

"I better not answer that." But Kris's voice is warm and smiling. "You'll be okay, you know. Whatever it is, you'll be okay. You're a good person and you'll find love and all that."

"And you'll keep telling me that each time?"

"Each and every time, yeah."

"That must be part of why I love you, Kristopher Allen."

"It must be, Adam Lambert. That and I'm sexy."

"Well, yeah, that too." And Adam laughs.  
_ _ _ _

The problem with webphones is that they have a keyboard. A keyboard means twitter, or easier texting.  
_ _ _ _

Out of the blue, Adam's cellphone buzzes, and it's not even a tweet, it's an actual text message. _hay u want to cum over an get high?_ From Tommy's cellphone.

On the other end of that text, Tommy's already kicking himself. But he's not a fan of drama, and he wants to stay in this band with Monte and LG and Lisa and... Adam. He wants to stay around Adam. And that means getting shit set aside so they can at least be decent to each other. _bettur tahn the crap u get._

"God, learn to spell." Adam mutters the words to himself and he stares at his phone. Is Tommy actually serious? Or is this some kind of horrible joke? Talking to Kris actually made him feel somewhat normal-Adam. In control, decent, all that. Shot with two mangled text messages. Cum? Really? What should he do? He calls Cassidy instead. There's a movie premiere, too; he should go, keep his face out there.

So, that's settled. On his way out the door, he texts Tommy back. _Sorry, cant tonite._ See? He's in control. The pictures that show up online a few hours later show him looking just fine, smiling for the camera.  
_ _ _ _

But only one of those pictures shows how tightly he's holding his cell phone, mm?  
_ _ _ _

_r u free tonite_

The words pop up on Tommy's cell a few nights later.

_ya u want 2 hang otu?_ is the answer. Tommy's got his feet up on the coffeetable, a beer by his ankle, his 360 controller in his hand and a _mean_ game of Assassin's Creed 2 going. He's not a media darling, there isn't anything he _has_ to do, or anywhere he _needs_ to be. That part is nice, actually. _wat u want 2 do?_

_Go to Drakes show w/me :)_ Just like old times, huh? As he goes through his closet, Adam is really kind of hoping Tommy says yes. He was Adam's saving grace the first time around. Maybe it can just be grace this time. Peace? A truce? Something?

_shur. cum get me n the mustang i wanna party n stylee._ Which means it's _definitely_ time for a shower, if they're going to one of Drake's shows. Hunh, imagine that: Tommy's got something in common with Adam's ex! Being Adam's ex. Super, that's awesome. That doesn't change the way he flatirons his hair, sprays it into place, making it stick up in the back and lay down in the front. Clothes? It's only been since being around Adam that Tommy watches what he wears when he's out, and he picks out skinny black pants, a white short-sleeve shirt, a black tie with skulls dotted all over it. And of course, the creepers that give him an extra almost-two inches of height.

He can hear the car when it pulls up, the roar of the engine. Yep, Adam knows where Tommy lives, actually. Though he never went inside. So there's a moment's time before there's a knock at the door. But there's Adam, all decked out in his usual finery, worry lurking in the backs of his eyes. "Hi."

"Hey. C'mon in for a sec, I'm just finishing." Tommy steps back from the door to invite Adam into an apartment that's got instruments, posters, CDs, a laptop on the coffeetable. The TV's on, playing some cinematic of a dude in a white cloak cradling some Italian dignitary before cutting his throat. Oh yeah, Assassin's Creed is still on, oops. "You look, uh. Nice. I just gotta brush my teeth and then we can go."

"...okay." Adam steps in, looking around, his hands in his pockets. "Thanks for going with me. It's kind of awkward to go alone." He stops himself before saying that everyone else was busy. That would just be rude. "... so this is your place."

"Uh-huh!" Tommy answers from the bathroom where Adam can hear the buzz of his toothbrush, and then Tommy himself comes back in to wave his hand at Adam, a little. It's no biggie to go to Drake's show, they've done it before. There's a moment where their eyes meet, and it almost makes Tommy forget that there's a toothbrush humming in his mouth for how bad he wants Adam to kiss him. Instead, he turns away to go back into the can, spit out a mouthful, rinse, and come back. "You like it?"

"Um...." Adam has to laugh, arching a brow at Tommy. "It's definitely a guy's place." But he shrugs. "It's nice. I've never spent much time in Burbank. I went right from San Diego to Hollywood ... " Which sounds canned and lame. Awesome. "Um ... ready?" Maybe driving will be less awkward? Or kissing Tommy until they're both flushed and aching.

Bad idea, Adam. He takes another deep breath. Okay.

"Jumped right into the glitter," Tommy clarifies with a little half-smile that Adam would know, and there's even that sly look out of the corner of his eye. "I'm ready, yeah." The Scarf is wrapped around his neck because what the hell, it matches his tie, right? On top of that is a sweater, and keys, wallet and cigarettes are pocketed. When he turns fully to Adam again, there's that expression that Adam knew from the very first time, that sense of _wanting._ And waiting.

"... don't," Adam says and it comes out almost like a plea. He pulls out his keys and he goes to Tommy's door and he stands at the door with his chin to his chest. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe ...

Dammit, they can be friends! They can. Somehow. Right? They're going to be touring together; this needs to work or something needs to give. Okay. He turns the knob and pulls the door open.

Tommy's right behind Adam, ushering him through so he can lock up, but that means touching Adam to urge him out of the way. It feels like electricity, like a shock that makes Tommy numb, but somehow he fumbles out the keys he'd just put in his pocket, slotting one in the lock and slamming it across. "Don't, what?" He doesn't even realize that his hand is still on Adam's arm.

"Don't look at me like that." Adam shrugs off Tommy's hand as he walks toward the car, concentrating on beeping open the doors instead of on how tiny Tommy is, how Adam knows Tommy _feels_ against him. Maybe he'll concentrate on how shitty things were. That's a good plan. Because they were really shitty. "I think you hated me as much as you loved me anyway."

"I never hated _you._" That's a really fucking unfair thing to say, too, Adam Lambert, and Tommy adds that under his breath before getting into the car. "I wasn't looking at you in _any_ way, either. I was just... looking. 'cause you look nice." Tommy can't think of the shitty things, because all he can think of right now is about the way Adam's hands feel, or how his mouth might taste. Fuck. This is _weak._

"You weren't just looking and you know it. God." Adam buckles his seat belt and starts the car and on blares Gaga and he's slow to turn it down because it definitely seems to be better if they don't talk. "What did you hate, then, if it wasn't me?" He asks when the music is turned down and he starts to pull away, heading back toward Hollywood.

"I _looked_ at you. I didn't realize it was a big fuckin' deal." Tommy looks out the tinted window as the neighbourhoods move by them. "It wasn't you that I hated, okay? Just... take it at that." Already, he's itching for a cigarette, a habit that had only ever come out when he'd be out drinking or hanging out with his buddies, but seems to have taken a more permanent residence in his lungs since Adam dumped him. "It's not like you're any better, anyway. You- you do _stuff._"

"Stuff?! What are you, five?" Adam rolls his eyes, the GPS telling him where to go. "I do stuff. That's great, Tommy Joe. That's great." Where is the fucking freeway?

"Why don't you insult me a little more, Lambert. Stop the car at this corner, huh? I think Drake'll understand if you don't show up with an ex, right? One's enough at a show like that." Tommy's unfastening his seatbelt, because, really, this _was_ a bad idea. They're not ready to hang out outside of practice or shows or anything, obviously. "I'll just fuckin' cab home or something. Sorry that I said yes to your fuckin' date."

"Wait. Just ... " Adam did pull over, but he locked the doors again. "Just wait. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. This is really fucking weird and I don't want it to be weird. I kind of wish we'd never gotten together and just could be _friends_." He works the leather of the steering wheel, watching his fingers instead of looking at Tommy.

"I don't wish that." Tommy looks down at his own hands. "You showed me shit I didn't even think about. Like, stuff I didn't know. Stuff that could feel that fuckin' good that-" His mouth pinches shut and he shakes his head. "Doing this makes me feel like I got a knife in my guts. Just... pretending things are alright or that it didn't mean anything or whatever." Or that Tommy doesn't still maybe love Adam, hidden underneath anger and fear and a sharp sense of betrayal that Adam had pursued Tommy, and now they aren't together.

"It meant something. It meant a lot." Adam squeezes the wheel again and the leather squeaks against his gloves he's wearing. "It's not like I've been in love with a lot of guys. It ... it meant a lot." And then he looks over, and his eyes are showing all that he doesn't wait to show, but it's there. Deal with it if you want, Tommy, or not, up to you.

"So why would you wish it never happened?" Tommy looks full-on at Adam, but before he can let the singer answer, he's launching himself over to kiss him. Fuck all of that, okay? Fuck it. This is fucking torture, just trying to fake it along as friends, when it's plain to anyone who's got a pair of eyes that there's tension as hard as steel between them. "Okay?" Tommy breathes between kisses. "Okay?" Get this, Adam: you broke Tommy. You made him yours.

Ouch. There are teeth in there and seatbelts that don't want to give because Adam has the brake on. With a thought process he didn't know he had, Adam throws the car into park and then he can get at Tommy's seatbelt and undo it. From there, there's enough room between Adam and the steering wheel, just, for Tommy to slip in, for Adam to cup Tommy's face and kiss him back. "Okay," he says. He's guessing Tommy doesn't really want an answer to his question after all.  
_ _ _ _

Let's skip ahead, shall we? No? Oh, damn. Are we interrupting?

Sorry. Don't mind us.  
_ _ _ _

Tommy's fairly certain that if he leans back, his ass will probably honk the horn and... well, he kind of finds he doesn't care. Not when Adam's kissing him back, hands keeping their mouths angled together, and fuck, just like that, just as suddenly as at the club when Adam had muttered low and hot in his ear, Tommy's hard up against Adam's stomach. "Oh god," he whispers, a moment before licking into Adam's mouth.

The "oh, God," seems to jar Adam back into reality and he leans back, head bouncing off the headrest, hand cupping Tommy's jaw. "We can't do this," he mutters, eyes opening. It hurts even to say that. "We can't. Tommy, I can't go back to what was. It was ... horrible. It was awful. You made me feel like shit and I clearly didn't make you happy. We can't do this."

Tommy's tongue comes out to dampen his lips, trying to think about what Adam's just said when all he feels is _want_, like metal drawn to a magnet. The need to be here, to be close. "I didn't mean to make you feel like shit. Not- it's just- it's super hard to try and do this and learn and be what you want when I barely know what I want." There's one absolute, the one thing he'd held onto from the get-go. He wants _Adam,_ but can't hold onto him, it seems. Tommy turns his head just a little to bite one of Adam's fingertips.

It sends a shoot of electricity right to Adam's cock, which, in his leather pants, is uncomfortable to say the least, and his hand slides around the back of Tommy's neck, holding him there. Shit. "Do you know what you want, now, Tommy Joe? Because I never wanted you to be anything but you. If I gave you the impression of anything else, I'm sorry."

When Tommy feels the way Adam _holds_ him, there's no way he can move. He doesn't _want_ to, which goes a long way toward actually not moving, but the broad warmth of Adam's hand completes it. "You." It's what Tommy's wanted the entire time. Adam might not understand how hard it is to learn his new side of himself, but Adam is all Tommy's wanted since... hell, since they met. Even before that fucking club or the AMA's. "I can be me if you can be you."  
_ _ _ _

We'll come back to this. Promise. But let's flash back, shall we? To the day Tommy and Adam met. Audition day.  
_ _ _ _

"I don't know one bassline from the next," Adam whispered to Monte. "Just tell me if they're any good, okay?"

Monte smiles and nods, showing Adam the notes he's been taking, just as the door opens and bassist number 43567, or something like that, comes in.

"Oh, shit," Adam mutters behind his hand. "This one's _cute_."

"Hi," Tommy starts, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. "I'm Tommy Joe Ratliff, I'm 28, from Burbank. I play guitar, keyboards, and bass, but since you've got a guitarist already..." Monte gets one of Tommy's smiles that are more felt than actually seen before he plugs into the amp. "Figured I'd play something that's got a little more of a bassline to it... something like The God That Failed, by Metallica? Is that cool?" If he watches the guy with the goatee, then he'll play fine. As long as Tommy's not looking at those blue eyes rimmed in black, the ones that'll ultimately make the decision.

"Cool," Monte tells him and sits back. Adam sits back too, because Monte sits back. Because Monte knows. God, Tommy Joe. Who goes by Tommy Joe? It's so cute. _He's so cute_. And of course, the bassline is a ... bassline and it's fine, so far as he can tell. but Monte nods and asks Tommy something about his technique, picking rather than fingering, which sounds vaguely dirty and makes Adam laugh.

God, they've been auditioning _all day_.

"I only really finger when I'm doing something dirty like the Chili's, you know? Or old Metallica, 'cause Burton was a finger-player. Newstead used a pick, and so does Trujillo. Fuck, I think I'd give my left nut to be able to play something like Primus. BWOOOOW!" He smacks his fingertips against the strings, making the bass let out a blurry, buzzing sound before muting the strings. "When are you going to be letting everyone know?"

"Um." Adam can't resist piping up, which he's done all day too and Monte's a champ for just kind of letting him. "Right now, actually? Just hold on a second. Do you go by Tommy? Tommy Joe? TJ?" He's got his hand on Monte's wrist, waiting for an answer before he confers. Most of the names went right over his head, though of course, he has heard Metallica and Primus and he assumes that the Chilis are of the Red Hot variety. BWOOW.

"I will honestly cut a bitch if anyone calls me TJ, I shit you not. I just go by Tommy, and that's it." On his birth certificate, it's Thomas Joseph Ratliff, which sounds pretty formal and kind of teacher-y, and the only people who get away with Tommy Joe or TJ are his parents. _Maybe_ his sister, if he's in the right mood.

So, was he that awful that they made their decision right now? Because Tommy's attention turns to Adam and it feels a little bit like getting caught with his dick in his hand: startling, embarrassing (which does _not_ make sense), and... a little flushed, which is definitely on the scale of one-to-weird. "Should I just pack my shit up and tell you guys to have a cool day, and thanks for letting me waste your time?"

"You talk a lot. Just give us a second, okay, Tommy Joe?" Adam's grin is big and flirtatious and warning all at once. Easy does it there, hoss. Then he leans over, his hand covering his mouth at Monte's ear. "Is he good?" He asks and Monte turns his head, telling him that the kid is good. Competent. Turns out, Monte's seen Tommy in one or five of the dozens of bands he's been in; knows his stuff pretty well.

"He'd make a good balance."

Adam nods and looks over at Tommy again. It shouldn't be this fun to toy with someone. Maybe because Tommy is so _vivacious_.

Tommy's eyebrows go up, questioning. No shit, he talks a lot. It's what he does, it's what he's good at. That, and smokin' hot riffs. He unshoulders his bass and rests the stock of it against his hip, waiting for whatever it is that Adam Lambert and Captain Goatee have to say. Monte. Tommy's seen him, too; he's a cool guy, no bullshit, lots of talent. It'd be nice to play with him.

And Adam. Shut up.

"He's cute."

And Monte cracks half a grin. "Figured you'd like that."

"Shut up." But Adam laughs. "Okay, Tommy Joe. Answer one more question for me. What's your favorite movie?"

"Tommy. By the way." One hands rests on the headstock of his bass while the other combs his bangs to the side. "Right now it's Zombieland. I'm a big fan of zombie death of the week, you know?" He's always been so big into horror, even tattooing his favourite actors and actresses on himself. "I think my all-time is The Exorcist, though. I got a piece of Linda Blair right here." A sleeve is pushed up and the tattoo's shown to Adam and Monte. "If you're basing if I should be in the band or not by what kind of movies I like, man, that's weak. Just saying."

"Okay," Adam says quietly. "I guess we'll see you around, _Tommy_. Thank you for your time." Kid is cute, but kind of an ass. Too bad, that. Adam was all ready to hire him, too!

Monte raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, looking over at Tommy. The boss has spoken, after all.

"Sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like I was being a dick," Tommy says, hefting his bass up to shoulder the strap. "Just... nobody calls me Tommy Joe. I'd think that people were going to get the wrong impression of me... it wouldn't be the wrong impression at all." The quote's off, he knows that, but it might be worth something. Horror movies are at the top of Tommy's list, but other stuff like Velvet Goldmine and Party Monster are up there, too. "Take care, guys. Have a good one." He comes over to shake Monte's hand, and there's a flash of hesitation before he holds his hand out to Adam, too.

"Velvet Goldmine." Adam takes Tommy's hand and gives it a shake "Fantastic movie. Way better than horror movies." There's a challenge there in his eyes, if Tommy's dude enough to take it.

"All depends on what you're into." Adam gets a flash of a real smile from Tommy. Challenge accepted! "And what mood you're in." Another quote: "Style always wins out in the end." Adam likes Velvet Goldmine, huh? Somehow, Tommy's not surprised. "But, yeah. You'll be letting people know, right? Thanks for letting me play for you, it was really cool." For some reason, Tommy's guts are knotted up. He _wants_ this gig, really bad.  
_ _ _ _

Funny way of showing it, don't you think? Some people try to kiss up. Others just be themselves, we suppose. It turns out that there were a lot of bass players who wanted the gig, too. But none were cute in that same, small, smirky way.

Seems Tommy won on a technicality. But of course, we all know about the "you can do anything you want to me" thing, right? Anyway. Where were we? Oh, right.  
_ _ _ _

When Tommy feels the way Adam _holds_ him, there's no way he can move. He doesn't _want_ to, which goes a long way toward actually not moving, but the broad warmth of Adam's hand completes it. "You." It's what Tommy's wanted the entire time. Adam might not understand how hard it is to learn his new side of himself, but Adam is all Tommy's wanted since... hell, since they met. Even before that fucking club or the AMA's. "I can be me if you can be you."

"I'm always me," Adam says, brows knitting together. "If you don't get that, Tommy, I'm not sure you understand me at all." For some reason, that idea, with all they've been through, feels like a knife in his chest. "I don't even know." What had they even done together? All this time? The whole world knew him, after all.

"You've always been you." Tommy ducks his head, looking at whatever it is that Adam has on his shirt, or maybe counting his necklaces. He's still spread across Adam's lap in a parked car, hands resting on Adam's shoulders. His words start again, but they're slow, halting, like he's afraid that Adam might take them wrong. "You're... you're fuckin' sexy. And confusing to me." The look that Adam gets is meant to stop anything that Adam might say. "Because bein' with a guy is totally different than being with a girl. This is _my_ shit to deal with, 'cause I'm trying to figure out who I am, now. That's... that's what I hate. Not you."

"Because you're not gay," Adam say quietly. Tommy's mantra in the beginning, less so toward the end. Because they were always fighting. Fighting or fucking. Screwed up to the max, right? "And I can't be with someone who's not comfortable with himself." And for a second, Adam looks just like he's going to cry. He touches Tommy's face, his mouth before letting his hand drop.

Even with just that little touch, Tommy's lips part against Adam's fingers, and it's nearly a minute before Tommy can find the words he wants to say. Words he barely has the courage for, and here was Tommy, thinking he was a tough guy! Hah! "Maybe I am. Gay. Or bi. Fuck, don't look like that, okay? Please?" He cups Adam's face in his hands and turns it up so they can look at each other. That's one of the _worst_ parts of being in a relationship, when he makes the other girl cry. Or Adam. "It wasn't just fucking, for me. I was-" Adam can almost see the anxiety on Tommy's face, as deep as a scar, and Tommy makes himself finish. "I'm in love with you. I don't understand it, and I don't know how it happened, but."

"God, you're such an ass." But Adam says it without heat and without venom, almost helplessly, because that's how he feels; helpless. Lost. "Does that mean no more freakouts? I can't do the freakouts anymore. I'm serious. And I seriously can't handle anymore of the weirdness. I want normal. I'll out us with someone and everyone will know. That's how it's supposed to work. And your twitter will explode and people will take pictures of you and Perez Hilton will develop a snide obsession with you and I ... will love you. Is that what you want, Tommy Joe?"

Again, there's a long stretch before Tommy talks, but before the words come, he looks at Adam's face, as much startled by this side of him as he'd been with the side that'd showed up after the FYE video shoot. "If I freak out, it won't be around you. Because I can't promise that. But... I can do normal. Before you tell anyone though, I gotta tell my mom and dad, you know?" His mouth is pulled down into a fine line, and it's Adam's lips he's looking at, instead of his eyes. He can't look there, not yet; the intensity of Adam's gaze is just... too much. "It's what I want. Will you help me?"

"God." Softer yet, almost a whisper. "You can hurt me so bad. You know that, too. That's what's most frightening. Fuck it," he says, almost to himself and he pulls Tommy forward and he kisses him and it's unlike any kiss they've shared before. It's slow and almost tentative before deepening. Adam makes a sound in there, too, but he doesn't know what it is.

"Don't wanna," Tommy murmurs between presses of mouth. He wants to go back to band practice being fun, hanging out with Adam with maybe a different level of comfort. One hand cups the back of Adam's head, and he thinks _the curve of your lips rewrites the world_, and if that doesn't make him gay, Tommy's not sure what would. Well, Adam's cock, but that's neither here nor there, and Adam's already pointed out that Tommy's been in some of the gayest positions out there. Whatever. "Okay?" Tommy pulls away, still close enough that his bangs tickle Adam's cheek, and he can feel Adam's breath on his lips.

"Okay."  
_ _ _ _

It's probably not surprising that when they get to Drake's opening, they are more than a little fashionably late and well, it's pretty obvious that they've been kissing.  
_ _ _ _

The opening goes really well, actually. Tommy sticks by Adam's side, brushing fingers with him now and then. For now, he's careful of how they talk, how close they are. It's the last thing he wants to surprise his parents with, though he knows they read all the gossip bullshit. Hell, they _laugh_ over it... or did, before it actually turned real, and now Tommy has to be honest with them on top of everything else. At one point, a camera catches Tommy's hand on the small of Adam's back, just a touch before passing by to go and grab another beer.

And of course, it explodes. The fangirls tweet about it like crazy and Tommy gets all kinds of questions via twitter about how Adam is in bed and all kinds of things that are surprising coming from strangers. Sure enough, Perez Hilton, after the AMA kiss and the other pictures of them together, gets the photo and does his drawing on it, which is, of course, seriously disgusting.

"Ugh," Adam says, the next morning as he looks at his computer. He's got an old t-shirt on and sweatpants and his hair is sticking up every which way, make up still smudged around his eyes. "They caught you."

"Fuck," Tommy mutters from the couch, where he's sprawled out with a coffee cup resting on his bare stomach. "What'd they catch me doing? Scratching my ass?" He's still pretty tired from last night, from the physical and the emotional, and then more physical. "Thanks for letting me stay, by the way. I figured you wouldn't wanna drive me back to my place last night anyway." The cup is set on the coffee table, and Tommy loops an arm behind his head.

"I don't think I want to know when it was that you last changed the sheets on your bed anyway." Adam gives Tommy a smirk over his shoulder. They'd dirtied his sheets instead. "You were touching my back in this picture. Perez drew on you. You've made it now, baby. You're a _star_. Do you want to see? You can sit on my lap."

Tommy gets up, just like that, and with a smirk of his own, sits on Adam's lap. But it's facing Adam instead of the computer, and there's a spark of challenge in Tommy's eyes. "Of course fuckin' Perez drew on it. He's such a _douche._ And it's weird how obsessed he is with you." Adam's the star; Tommy's just the backup, just like Monte, Lisa, and LP. Adam's the star, and suddenly Tommy realizes how lucky he is to be this close to it.  
_ _ _ _

Awww. The end. For now. But you know something this idyllic can't last, right?


	7. Sweet Old Etcetera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, life is sweet, and sushi is still gross.

"Say uncle!"

Adam has Tommy pinned, straddling his teeny tiny hips and he's tickling him. Which, don't tell anyone, but Tommy is ridiculously ticklish. It's absurd how ticklish he is. Adam's tempted to keep going until Tommy pees himself or something.

Or until he says uncle.

What? There are totally worse ways to spend a day off, aren't there? Totally. At this rate, they won't get dressed at all.

What a shame.

"_Uncle!_" It comes out sounding ridiculously close to a shriek, but there isn't anything Tommy can do to get Adam _off_ of him. He can't stand being tickled, and he's laughing so hard that his face is red. Twisting under Adam doesn't work because there's just no way he can get the leverage he needs without playing totally dirty. "Uncle, fucker!" And that reminds him of South Park, and Tommy starts laughing again. "_Seriously!_ I'm gonna barf or something if you keep doing that!" The fact that they're naked makes this tolerable only by a degree. Because it's Adam. Naked. And who wouldn't want that?

At the second "uncle" and the threat of barf, Adam stops, but only to pin Tommy's shoulders to the bed with a grin. "You're too easy." Tommy is gorgeous like this all flushed and Adam only barely manages to bite back the urge to kiss him senseless. "I used to do this to Neil, too, but he was always dressed. I was dressed too," he adds quickly, because? EW.

"Thanks! There goes any potential boner, god." Tommy rolls his eyes, still hitching helpless little laughs. "You look _way_ too satisfied with yourself. And-" A grin blooms again, because Tommy almost says something like _I'm not easy_, but that's kind of a giant lie. It's getting easier to be with Adam, even if there are still moments where this scares him so bad that he doesn't know what to do. It's kind of like they've met somewhere in the middle, and the calibre of Tommy's smile changes. "So are you going to do something now that you've got me on my back?"

"I was thinking of catching up on my reading," Adam says, laughing, because they aren't fighting or tense or anything. Did he just curse them? Fuck it. He leans back, waggling his fingers. "Or we could do our nails." (Is it worth mentioning that he's sitting right on Tommy's lost boner?) "Or we could twitter how we're in bed with our boyfriends." And yep, Adam's grin turns evil.

"You're such an asshole. Honestly. Who reads anymore, anyway?" Tommy bites on the inside of his cheek to hide his smirk before resting his palms on the tops of Adam's thighs. "I'll twitter about you, for sure." The boyfriends thing, he's not quite ready for, yet. Coming out to his parents about this had been hard enough, even though his sister seemed totally unsurprised. Tommy thinks his parents will get used to it. "I'll do your nails if you want. 'cause I don't do mine. They do themselves."

"They do themselves. That's hilarious." Adam's grin fades some, but not badly, just to something softer, gentler. "You can do my nails, I'll do your do it themselves nails. After you Twitter about me." Because, sue him! He wants to see what Tommy will say. He traces Tommy's fingers before bending over to get his phone and set it on Tommy's chest.

"I can't even tell you how many times I've whammered one of my fingers in my bass case, honestly. And that shit turns black and _then_ falls off, and it's very sexy." He picks up his phone and loads the Twitter app, glancing at Adam before sending not one, but _two_ tweets out. One is a DM for Adam alone: _ilu_. The other is public for everyone to see: _@@adamlambert thx 4 ahving me over my nails never lookd beter babyboy!_ Then, with a smug smile, he holds the phone up for Adam to see.

"There's this thing called spellcheck," Adam says before laughing and holding Tommy's wrists so he doesn't get smacked. "I love it, really." So much that he bends down to give Tommy a kiss. Then another. And another. "I love you," he whispers, breathing the words over Tommy's mouth. "I just really do."

"Fuck spellcheck," Tommy answers, tugging against Adam's hold long enough to let their mouths come together, and then... he relaxes. This is one thing he's sure of, this is one thing he _wants_, and his lips come apart against Adam's to echo his words back. Yes, Tommy loves him. He _does._ "Can I touch you?" Tommy breathes, and since Adam's sitting across Tommy's hips, he can feel, despite the Neil-Adam tickling story, that he's getting hard.

"You can do whatever you want," Adam tells him, and looses his wrists. He leans back, too, and yeah, he can feel the return of the Tommy-cock and maybe he wriggles just a little bit, a hint of a smirk on his face. He means it too. What_ever_ Tommy wants, Adam will give him. That's how far gone Adam is, see.

For all the scowls that Tommy's capable of, this one's entirely good-natured, and he wriggles in answer. Jerk. His hands come up to skim down Adam's sides, down his thighs and then in, not quite touching Adam's cock, but he's very, very close. "I wanna try it slow. You know, where we're not like, rabbits or something. I know what it's like to _want_ you, but..." There's something to be said about slow, with lots of kissing. Any other relationship, he's always liked being the one to make his girlfriend gasp and arch and feel _so good_ without rushing through it.

Tommy meant making love. The bridge of Adam's nose colors with that idea and he nods as he bends down again, kissing Tommy just like that. Slow, deep, his tongue running along Tommy's even as he braces his weight on his hands and knees Tommy's legs open and leans into him, hips rocking so their erections have something to move against.

Oh, jeez. Tommy hums out a noise before lifting his hips up, and it's muffled on Adam's tongue. A hand buries itself in his hair and a leg comes up around Adam's hip. Yeah, this is what he meant, slow and kind of decadent enough that it doesn't take long to have Tommy making breathy sounds through kisses that get off-center, pressed to Adam's lower lip, the corner of his mouth, the soft dip below Adam's mouth. "Oh yeah," he husks, and how is it that like, ten minutes ago, Adam was tickling him to the point of insanity? "I want." And then his kisses skid down Adam's jaw and down the length of his throat.

"Tell me." It's not an order, like before when they've played, but more a request. Adam asks it as he moves down Tommy's body, touching and tasting spots, lingering when he makes Tommy shiver. Like the inside of his left elbow, actually. Or the join of his right leg. That's a particularly juicy spot there. Sweet and the sound that Tommy makes is fantastic.

"Mouth." Tommy's eyes are tight shut, neck arched back, hands restless and moving without thinking. Down his own chest, coasting over Adam's hair, running the palm of his other hand up the hard arch of his cock. Was 'mouth' a request? Was it a compliment? It kind of feels like the only word Tommy can say properly right now, and he groans low in his chest. The spot on the inside of his right leg, _fuck._ He _whines_, and that's like, the least masculine sound he could _ever_ make, but he can't help it. "Mmh- _mouth._" A kiss, a suck, a burn of teeth. Something. _Anything._

"Mouth." Tommy can feel Adam's smile then a skating of teeth against sensitive skin before Adam noses Tommy's hand out of the way and mouths up his cock and flicks his tongue at the slit that's already dripping precome. It's sexy, no lie, making Tommy monosyllabic. It's powerful, too, watching the way he falls apart. Adam finds one of his hands and holds it, as he sucks down on his cock.

Tommy wants to watch, he _really_ does, but his eyes are rolled back in his head. His fingers tense and relax with every bob of Adam's head, and it's kind of insane how good Adam is at this. Yeah, he's had a couple of girlfriends who really liked going down on him, but this is _different._ Because Adam knows what _he_ likes, so that means he knows what Tommy would like, too. And he _loves_ it. "Jeez," he whispers, squeezing Adam's fingers again. "_Fuck._"

Adam would smile, but you know; full mouth and all. So he bobs a few more times and then lets go and grins up at Tommy. "Wanna come in my mouth? Or ... do you want something else?" His tone is smoky and a little raw, because you know, throat and all that. But the promise is clear.

"No." To coming in Adam's mouth, that is. No, Tommy wanted slow, and even though he feels all tight and shaky, his hand still in Adam's hair. After a long moment, Tommy's eyes flutter open just enough that there's just a dark glint between his lashes. "Something else. Please." Adam hadn't made a demand before, but Tommy still knows his manners and when he should ask nicely for something. "Kiss me." Without a 'please', this time.

Lunging up, Adam kisses Tommy's mouth, tongue moving in, licking against Tommy's with the taste of Tommy's precome on his tongue. At that angle, all he needs to do is cant his hips forward and his cock brushes between Tommy's legs. Hi there.

Tommy's nodding even before he realizes that the motion makes kissing difficult, and his hands come up to steady Adam's head, because that's the obvious answer, right? His hips twitch up and his feet slide against the bed, knees lifting so his feet are flat and he can have a little leverage. Balance: Tommy needs it, in his head and in his hips, and he asked for slow. No need to be impatient. _Hi._

Hips falling farther Adam grinds himself against Tommy's ass, his balls and mmm, friction. He rocks his hips slowly and he tugs Tommy's bottom lip as he leans up before he smiles again, an almost dirty curling of his mouth. "Yeah."

"Unh." It's not quite a vocal sound as Tommy pulls against Adam's teeth, and somehow his hands end up on Adam's hips, pulling him closer. They've still only gone a handful of times without a condom, but Adam seems to know exactly what Tommy meant by slow, and the way he's turned on, all humid kisses and hot touches, makes him forget all about condoms, right now. Adam had said he was clean and Tommy believed him. They're both clean, and he breathes against Adam's jaw, "More. Please?"

Adam nods, giving Tommy another kiss before he leans over, pulling open the nightstand drawer and getting the lube before coming back and sucking a bright red mark into Tommy's neck even as he flicks open the lid of the tube and squeezes some on his fingers. That way, he can rub at Tommy's hole, teasing circles. Tommy can feel his smile against his skin.

"You're horrible," Tommy sighs, lifting his hips up. He likes the tease, though, likes the way Adam works him like it's part of a perfect performance, and Adam's hips get bumped by Tommy's thighs in a jerk of muscle that goes from his knees right up to where Adam's touching him. "You're really, really horrible." _But I love you._ The thought is easier to have than it is to say, so Tommy lets Adam know by ducking his head and kissing him in gasps and breaths.

"By horrible, you mean _amazing_." Adam's smile grows wider as he's two knuckles in, far enough to cock that finger - _c'mere, glitterbaby_ \- and beckon a reaction out of Tommy by glancing against his prostate. "And you love me."

"Nnnh." Tommy's head bobs in a nod, loose, like a puppet with its strings cut. Yes, he loves Adam, he _does_, and Adam _is_ amazing, the little glance of his finger sending shocks of hot pleasure racing through him faster than Tommy can consciously comprehend. "_Yes._" There's Adam's proper agreement, and when Tommy's hips rock up again, it's to leave a slick spot on Adam's hip. "Shit-that-feels-good."

"I know, right?" Chuckling in Tommy's ear, Adam then sucks a nice mark right into his neck. Lookee there, pretty red. Don't think Adam hasn't noted how nicely Tommy marks up. One finger, then two and he's leaving his own mark on Tommy's leg, getting impatient and even harder. "One day, you should fuck me. I thought you might actually want to, when I said you could have anything."

"Maybe," Tommy gasps. It's not out of the question, but the idea of it freaks him out _really_ bad, right this second. Part of that is because he wants _this_ so bad, Adam's teeth and mouth, his dirty words and his _fucking_ dirty tactics at rendering Tommy completely useless and wanting, fingertips shivering over the hot, sore marks on his skin. "Fuck me. Fuck, I want that. Really- _mmh._ Really bad."

"I know you do, baby. I know." In response, Adam rubs the heel of his hand down Tommy's cock, grinding a little at the head for that extra punch of pleasure. "You want my cock in you. You want me to fuck you really good, don't you?" He rubs the excess lube from his hand onto his cock.

"Slow," Tommy agrees. "Good." Bad sex with Adam? Unthinkable! But Tommy's currently unthinking in general. Yes, he wants Adam's cock. He wants to be fucked _really good._ He wants to kiss Adam until they're both breathless and hot, do this until they're exhausted and strung out on the pleasure that's always there. Tommy _likes_ not thinking. He likes to feel, and his hips don't rock this time. This time, they _buck_, and Tommy cries out.

"Easy, baby. Easy." Adam croons out the words as he pushes Tommy's thighs to his chest with one hand and with the other, he guides his cock to the prepped hole and starts to push in, leaning forward as he does, watching himself disappear into Tommy's body. "Shit," he murmurs. "You feel so good."

Tommy's words are staccato, like his teeth are chattering. "You say 'easy'. You don't n- know how your hands feel." Not to Tommy's perception, at least. But now there's that familiar stretch and burn as he takes Adam as much as Adam takes him, and it makes Tommy's toes curl and his hands ball into fists behind Adam's back. He's discovered he likes the ache of it, likes feeling it when he moves, walks, leans against Adam, wherever they might be. Muscles used and pulled nearly to the point of strain. Tommy tips his chin up to try and catch Adam's mouth and only succeeds in ghosting his lips on Adam's skin.

It's enough, though, to get Adam's attention, to get him to lean down, tip his chin down and kiss Tommy again. He knows his hands are smooth; that isn't what Tommy means. He likes the idea of driving Tommy crazy, anyway, as he rocks his hips in more, sees how far he can bury himself, until he can feel his balls press against Tommy's ass. "Yeah."

Adam's hands are _knowing_, and that's what nearly drives Tommy out of his skin. His touches, his words, the tone of his voice, and holy goddamn, his _cock_. Adam knows how to use every inch of himself, it feels like - no pun intended! - and Tommy's mouth opens against Adam's, voicing a groan that Adam can feel on his tongue.

Tommy is gorgeous when he gives himself over. Just saying. Adam starts moving slow, just as promised and he kisses along Tommy's lips, his jaw and his neck, one hand finding one of Tommy's to drag it up over his head and hold on. "Good, huh, baby?" He breathes in Tommy's ear. "Good."

"Mm. Hmm." Two definite sounds that make up Tommy's affirmation, broken by a gasp. His back arches, thighs rubbing against Adam's waist before a heel skids down the back of Adam's thigh. Like this, this _close_, this slow, he gets all the friction he needs from the warm press of their bodies. It makes him feel drunk, makes him feel high, makes him _feel._ "So good. So _good._" He's done this before, but not from this side, this position. Never the one to be made love _to._

That's criminal, you ask Adam. That's what sex should be. Well, there is a time and place for _fucking_, as Adam and Tommy know too well, but making love is underrated in his opinion. And that is what Adam's doing, making no mistake. _You get back what you give away_, right? "You're beautiful," he tells Tommy, lips to the shell of Tommy's ear before dragging his mouth back to kiss. To _kiss_.

He's not beautiful, though, even if Tommy can't find the words to deny Adam's compliment. He's just a guy, just Tommy Joe Ratliff. It takes a minute to find Adam's pace, the slide of his hips, the way it ebbs and flows as certain as the tide, but when he does, he rocks up under Adam, his free hand carding into hair that's freshly black, as shiny as silk and just as soft. Again, there's a flicker of consciousness that for all his denials of being gay, he sure does have some homersexual thoughts about Adam sometimes, but then it's shoved away when Adam moves just _right_, rendering Tommy helpless and shuddering, mouth barely touching Adam's.

"That's right." Consciously, Adam moves just that same way again. And again. Tommy's pleasure first and Adam's will follow. It feels good, _right_ and he bends his back to increase that friction. "Give it to me, baby," he urges, voice lust-rough. "Give it to me."

Tommy tries to breathe slow, letting each pull of air stoke the fire in his guts until it feels like he reaches flashpoint. He arches up under Adam again, his sounds reduced to hoarse gasps of air as he _comes_, body gripping Adam as tightly as his hand does, around Adam's shoulder. It's almost like if Adam demands something of him, Tommy can't bring himself to resist. It just... happens, and because it just keeps happening, here they are, with Tommy's head thrown back against the pillow, mouthing words that he finds so hard to put voice to. _Love you. Love you._

"Yeah." It comes out a breath and Adam pulls in another and it only takes a few more thrusts for him to be coming too. He rocks through it, smearing the mess on their bellies but not caring. This is life, as stupid as it sounds and it's messy and glorious. Adam pants against Tommy's lips before kissing him again. "Yeah."

Words? What are words? Tommy can only nod, because his voice seems to have rode out of town on the last horse, and Adam's mouth feels too good to interrupt with something like _words._ His legs fall loose and boneless to the sides, and there's that now-familiar cant of Tommy's hips that means he'd really like it if Adam moved. What, it's uncomfortable, after! It's not as if Tommy's a big guy, and Adam (or at least parts of him) _are_ big. But the way Tommy's calloused fingertips skim down Adam's spine is an apology spoken in action, too.

The goo on Tommy's belly (and Adam's) makes it possible to slide down, and out. Adam then slips to his side, a leg still looped over one of Tommy's, Adam's cheek on Tommy's shoulder, arm around his waist, too. A kiss to Tommy's collarbone and he doesn't even say anything. Sometimes it's not necessary, right? Right.

Right. And usually when Tommy opens his mouth, something stupid comes out, so it's just best that they lie here, comfortable and sticky-hot and sated. In a minute, he'll get up and jump in the shower (or at least step carefully; for all that they've done this, his ass still kind of hurts after), and rock a whiz. But not in that order, because that's all Seinfeld-y and kind of weird and gross. There's what he wants to say to Adam! "You wanna shower with me?"

"Mmmhmmm." Canting his chin up, Adam can kiss right under Tommy's jaw. "Then sushi and getting high." That actually sounds like a perfect addition to what is seeming like a perfect day, doesn't it? That and defiling Tommy again. And again. Perhaps a fifth (sixth?) time, for good measure.

"I don't like sushi," Tommy reminds, and one side of his mouth tips up in an almost-smile. "'least I didn't, the last time I had it. Maybe if I'm high, it'll look good." The other side of his mouth turns up, too, and Tommy turns his head to get one of those kisses on his mouth. "I think I've got come in my belly button. I can feel it squishing. Let's get clean, huh?"

"You're so classy," Adam tells him with a laugh. And a kiss. "Sushi is amazing. You'll like it, I promise." Then he can kneel on the bed, slide to stand on the floor and offer Tommy his hand to pull him to standing and lace their fingers together. "Trust me on this."

Tommy's class extends to the wince that comes with getting vertical, paired with the muttered expletive about how not only is his bellybutton squishy, but he's _leaky_, too. Urg. At least it doesn't send him into a totally spastic meltdown freakout anymore, right? "I don't know if I should trust you." There's no heat behind his words, though, and the look that Adam gets is warm. "You've done some freaky shit to me. I don't want to be surprised by, like, tentacles or anything." He allows himself to be led to the bathroom, and Tommy climbs in the shower before Adam can even get towels. What! Adam isn't the one who's goopy! Or at least, not as goopy as Tommy is, nyeah. "Is it the same stuff you had last time? That shit was dynamite."

"The bodywash? Yeah. My mom gets it for me," Adam says and thinks nothing of it, of mentioning his mom after having intense sex. He does get the towels, though, and sets them on the edge on the little shelf thing between the bathtub and the shower and he climbs in after Tommy. "Oh, wait. What are you talking about?"

"Tentacles, sushi. Same stuff, pot. I think it's hilarious that your mom buys you shower gel." Talking about parents after sex? Just fine. Before or during? So very, very wrong. Tommy's got the shower head and is rinsing himself off before squeezing some of that mom-shower-gel onto a puff to give himself a scrub. "...does she know about us?"

"My mom? Of course." As if that's a question. Adam talks to his mom about _everything_, Tommy included. It goes unmentioned that Leila thinks Tommy is cute. Though, she wasn't fond of him when Adam was miserable, but she's not going meddle. Adam takes the scrubby and pours body wash on it and starts to scrub Tommy down. "The pot's still good, though. I have the connection, yeah."

"I can totally get you good pot that you don't have to deal with some 'connection' for it, you know." After a moment of letting Adam wash him, Tommy asks quietly, "What'd you tell her about me?" He chews on the inside of his cheek, not quite looking Adam in the face. Because not that long ago, things had been _really_ shitty, and they hadn't even been together.

"Your pot won't be as good as mine," Adam tells him first, smug. But then he shrugs a shoulder, turning Tommy around to wash his back. "I told her when we got together. And I called her when we ... weren't ... together. And then when we were again." He talks to his mom a lot, okay? "She just wants me to be happy," he says with another shrug, watching his hand and the scrubby on Tommy's skin.

When Adam broke up with him. Yeah, Tommy knows that he's not exactly the innocent one, but it's been _hard._ And this is really, really nice, and he's not going to ruin it by opening his stupid mouth and letting fly anything that could make them fight. So he goes and says something even dumber. "I wanna be the one that... you know. Makes you happy." It's a good fucking thing his back is turned to Adam.

But he can tell that Adam hears him when the scrubby stops moving, planting between Tommy's shoulderblades. Adam thinks that that is ... the most amazing thing anyone's said to him in a really long time. And he reaches up with his other hand to pull at Tommy's chin, pull him back against Adam's chest so they can kiss. Right now, in this moment, Tommy _does_ make Adam happy. Absurdly so, actually.

Tommy's toes squeak against the floor of the shower, and his hands come down on Adam's shoulders to steady himself. No sense in wiping out and cranking himself on tile, because there's no doubt that would hurt like a motherfucker, honestly. "'m clean," he murmurs, pulling just barely enough out of the kiss to speak. The fact that Adam makes him happy scares him still, yeah, but it's the sort of good-scary that comes with, like, getting on a roller coaster, or going to see a really scary movie. Excitement shot through with anxiety. "When you're done, let's go get high and slosh out on the couch, huh?"

"Okay. No horror movies!" That's Adam's admonishment as he watches Tommy get out of the shower and starts to wash himself, trying to keep his hair dry. "The pot's in the fridge, in the door, behind the honey jar," he adds. "Hey," And at this, he sticks his head out of the shower door. "Tommy?" And he smiles. "I love you."

The words make Tommy's stomach do some kind of mosh-and-roll to the beat of Slipknot, and he grins down at his toes, knotting a towel around his waist. "You too," he says, and later, once they're both full of smoke and raw fish, he'll tell Adam properly. He'll say, "I love you," and it'll be easy, because it'll be honest. And then he'll kiss Adam, straddle his lap. Run his hands into that black hair, look into eyes that are as blue as the sky. Again with the gay, Tommy, honestly! But, yeah. He'll look at those eyes, touch that hair, kiss that mouth, and he'll say "I love you." And he'll mean it.


	8. Mrs. Brown, You've Got A Lovely Daughter

It really was a very pretty wedding and the weather was fantastic for it. Adam actually loves weddings, truth told. The pageantry of it. It's not like he's all "I want to get married!" More like "That would be fun," or "Yay, another reason to get dressed up!"

Anyway. This is Tommy's sister's wedding to boot, which makes it interesting. Tommy had even asked Adam in his own roundabout way. And Adam hadn't been sure that going was such a good idea, seeing as who he was came with some ... baggage. He didn't want to distract after all, especially with Tommy being a groomsman. (Tommy! In a tux! As if Adam would say no to _that_.) So, Adam had arrived late, on purpose and he'd ducked in the back row and dressed, for him, conservatively with a black suit, white shirt, black skinny time. And wingtips. He has his hair down, too, not tall and pushed back. Low-key.

A really pretty ceremony and Tommy's sister (Stefanie? Sarah? Eep) looks gorgeous (if a little busty, woo). Adam has given his regards to the happy couple and now stands off to the side, trying to be _inconspicuous_. Which is hard when people are coming up asking for autographs, yeesh. So much for keeping a low profile.

Autographs? At a _wedding?_ That's tacky, seriously. But Tommy doesn't get a chance to do little more than smile at Adam before there are greetings and pictures and limos to be taken to the reception. At least on the ride to the hall, he can text Adam, and he does, like, four times. _bord. theres wine in teh limo! m gettng drunk before i get there fair warning. i love you._ The last text makes his face flush, and one of the other groomsman whaps him on the shoulder to ask what he's texting. "Nothing," Tommy snorts. "You'll see later." Maybe.

There is even assigned seating at the reception hall and Adam has to wander from table to find his name. At least he's not at the kid's table. Hah. "Hi," he says as he pulls out his chair to sit. He doesn't give him name. It might go better if he doesn't. The median age at the table seems to be sixty. He might be safe.

The wedding party is nowhere to be seen, not yet. Not until they're introduced before dinner, and Tommy stands outside, smoking. He'd put away almost half a bottle of red wine by himself, and his head feels buzzy and warm. When the party's gathered together to be introduced, Tommy hopes for a second that Adam'll be near the door, that he'll be able to see him when they come in, and it's Adam that he looks for when he and the bridesmaid he's paired with are brought in. It's Adam that gets Tommy's smile. He's sitting with old people, aunts and uncles, thank _god._ Not the younger ones who'd pester him about being on American Idol, and his performance at the AMA's. Whew.

Hi! Tommy gets a little waggled finger wave and Adam has to lean over to listen to Grace talk about when Tommy was young and a little misguided, but how he was a good boy and got himself turned around. Adam tries not to laugh. And he tries not to ogle Tommy in a tux. "He was a good boy, mm?" He asks, and there goes Grace, just talking, talking. Adam likes Grace.

Oh god, Aunt Grace. Aunt Grace who'd take pictures of Tommy in the bathtub - he remembers that, very clearly, trying to hide under bubbles so she wouldn't be able to see him - and who'd bought him his first guitar for Christmas when he was 14.

"So how do you know Tommy Joe?" Grace asks, leaning over to talk in Adam's ear. Tommy Joe's friend smells very nice, like expensive cologne, and Grace is fairly certain that she's seen this boy before. Wait, maybe this is the boy whose band Tommy Joe plays in! "You're Adam Lambert, aren't you! Tommy Joe's talked about you. It's nice to see you here, coming as a friend when Tommy Joe couldn't find a nice girl to bring as a date..."

A nice girl. Adam coughs into his hand before composing himself. He needs to remind Tommy to find a _nice girl_. "You got me," he tells Grace with a rueful smile. "I hope he's said nice things about me at the very least." God he'd text Tommy back, but that would be rude to Grace. He doesn't say that Tommy is a _very good boy_.

"Oh, he certainly did! He said that you were one of the most talented, amazing people he'd ever met. I think he likes being in your band!" Then they're bringing dinner out, now that the wedding party's sitting down, and thank _god_, they do the speeches while everyone's eating. Nice and short: Tommy's parents, the groom's parents, the best man and the maid of honor, and after desserts are passed around, Tommy excuses himself from the head table to come say hi to Adam. Yep, he's drunk already, warm and flushed with red wine, and he makes sure to give Aunt Grace a kiss before crouching down next to Adam's chair. "Hi."

"Hi there." Adam has to resist running his fingers through Tommy's hair. "How much have you had to drink?" He asks, amused smile creasing his face. "You look amazing in that tux, by the way." He wants to ask Tommy about what Grace said, the talented and amazing part, but he doesn't, not here. "Are you having fun? Your sister looks beautiful."

"I'm in a tux at a wedding. You think I'm having fun?" But Tommy's grinning anyway, trying not to touch Adam as much as Adam's trying not to touch him. "I had half a bottle of vino in the limo between the wedding and now, and I think I had like, another three glasses? I feel _really good_, even though I know the music tonight is gonna suck. Should I take my tie off? I should totally take my tie off. I feel like I'm strangling. You wanna come outside for some fresh air with me or something?" So Tommy can have another cigarette maybe, and let the air cool some of the heat off his skin. Plus, then he can kiss Adam, which is a _really_ weird way to feel when there are so many people around.

"Sure." And Adam smiles at Grace. "Excuse us." He can get Tommy by the elbow and make sure he gets up without stumbling and then they can go outside where it's dark and only a little chilly. "You're not strangling, though," Adam tells him, tapping at the tie. "That's a clip-on, isn't it?" Cute. "So. A wedding."

"I've got a brother for the first time in my life!" Tommy's fairly steady on his feet until they get outside, and Tommy hooks his arm into Adam's to haul him around the other side of the building. Then it's up on the toes of his rented shoes to crash his mouth into Adam's, a hand gripping his lapel and the other fisted in Adam's hair. "Been thinking about you all day," he murmurs. "I'm glad you're here."

Ack! Adam pries the hand out of his hair and the other off his lapel. Rumpling: A dead give away. "You've been thinking about me?" He smiles, kissing Tommy again. "What have you been thinking? Your aunt Grace said some very nice things about you, by the way. You're a very good boy who needs a nice girl." Thank God Grace couldn't see them now, right? Right.

"I've been thinking how _bored_ I've been all day." No rumpling, okay! Tommy can do that, for sure. But Adam looks _really_ good, way more comfortable dressed up than Tommy feels. "Aunt Gracie really likes me 'cause I'm the only boy. She said I need a nice girl?" Tommy tips his head back to laugh. "I _got_ someone who's nice, okay? You think I'm a good boy?"

The grin Adam gives him is naughty at the edges. "_I_ think you are a very good boy." And gorgeous when he laughs; Adam traces his jaw with his fingertips. "What can we do to make you less bored? We could always dance." Seeing as the music is starting, judging by the dull thudding they can hear.

"_Shit!_ I gotta get back in there 'cause they're gonna be doing the wedding party dance! But _yes._ We should totally dance." When did Tommy start feeling so open about this? Maybe having a _lot_ of wine has loosened Tommy's tongue and pushed away his inhibitions, and with another grin, he leans up to kiss Adam's jaw. "Get some champagne or something, and I'll dance with you when the shit I _have_ to do is done. I can't believe my little sister's married!"

"Yay, married!" Adam has to laugh. He has to! He ... it's so _cute_, Tommy when he's a little drunk. "Go, go, dance! I'll get champagne." Or something else that won't taste quite so crappy. He straightens Tommy's tie and his hair and shoves him toward the door. Then he can take a minute and make sure _he's_ not too smeared: another giveaway.

Tommy's dancing with the bridesmaid he'd been introduced with, trying very hard not to step on her toes. He's not a super dancer, okay? Especially when he's thinking about dancing with Adam, and how weird it might be. He's totally slow-danced with other guys, but it had always been as a joke, laughing and talking and goofing the fuck off and totally not even keeping pace with the music. Instead, he chats with the bridesmaid, one of his sister's friends from high school, and it maybe kind of slips out that the relationship he's got with Adam Lambert isn't exactly platonic.

Adam can just about hear her squeal as he dances with Grace, who insisted. And is actually really good! She even lets Adam lead, which is a nice thing.

Until the squeal. And he looks up and over at where Tommy is, eyebrows up, because the bridesmaid is looking at _him_ and she squeals _again_ and Adam might say, even if he thinks _OH, SHIT_ in all caps.

When the song's finished, the DJ switches to something a little faster, and very typically 'wedding': Lou Bega's Mambo Number 5, and that's all Tommy will have to do with _that_, and he hooks his arm through Adam's again to pull him from the dancefloor. "I think I slipped," he informs Adam, very seriously. "I think I told her that I really liked when you kissed me at the AMA's." He snags another half-glass of wine as some family comes over to say hi, and Tommy's mouth works against him, as usual. "This is Adam." Which seems simple enough, except that maybe his hand's slid down Adam's arm to hold his hand, too.

Okay! Here goes nothing. Adam holds on to Tommy's hand, of course, because in the face of adversity, or family, well, you hold on, right? And he smiles, that big bright smile that his own mother would recognize is the "Aren't I adorable, don't you want to hug me?" smile and he says, "hi, everyone! This is a gorgeous wedding, isn't it? I love weddings. It was so nice of Tommy to invite me to be here with you."

There's a flicker of confusion on Tommy's family's faces, but it's _Tommy_, and it could just be that he's had a lot to drink. Obviously. He looks up at Adam, unable to resist that smile, answering it with one of his own. He _does_ want to hug Adam, okay? It's one of those totally irresistible things that Adam has about himself, and the way he talks makes Tommy actually feel kind of proud to be here with him, instead of panicked at what everyone might think. But sure enough, there's requests for photos and autographs, and Tommy's secretly _very_ proud of Adam's grace and accommodation, when Tommy himself is saying something along the lines of "It's a _wedding_, not a concert! We wanna have fun!" Then the pace of the music changes again, back to something slow.

And what Adam feels the worst about is that it is totally distracting from Tommy's sister (Sally? Sandra? God, he's usually so _good_ with names)'s big day. So what actually ends up happening is that he dances with _her_ and they talk and there's video of it, of course, ugh, and he doesn't have to call her by name, thankfully, and she's got Tommy's smile, which makes him like her even more (Samantha? He at least knows it starts with an S). And the music's still slow when Tommy's sister's husband breaks in and Adam can back away and look around and find Tommy, who's having what seems like a very earnest discussion with a little blond boy. If Adam had ovaries, they would explode. Good thing he doesn't, isn't it?

It's one of his cousin's kids, and Tommy's crouched down, explaining the nuances of how the Ninja Turtles work together and why they're so different, and why they _need_ to be different for them to be as super-awesome as they are, and when he sees Adam approaching, he brings him into the conversation. "It's like... I'm in Adam's band, right? There's me and Monte and Lisa and Longineu - try saying _that_ five times fast, huh buddy? - and we all do different stuff. Adam's like our Splinter, you know?" He glances up at his boyfriend with a smile. Not that Adam's a mutant rat or anything, but he's sort of the leader! Tommy stands to greet Adam properly, fingertips skimming subtly against Adam's palm. "You wanna dance or something?"

"I ... would love to." Adam gives the boy a smile - yeah, most of that sailed right over Adam's head and he's all right with that - and he waits for Tommy to lead to where he wants to dance, somewhere, Adam's thinking, way out of the way, where they might not actually be photographed or something. God, he should checked twitter, but he's _afraid_.

There's nothing to be afraid of! It's just dancing! He barely moves them to the corner of the dancefloor, and one hand comes down on Adam's shoulder and the other is held out for Adam to take. The wedding photographer is all over the place taking pictures, and Tommy finally clues in to what Adam might be thinking. "You wanna go somewhere darker? Where people aren't gonna stare or whatever? I just hope that... a lot of this is kept private, you know? It's not like it's a fuckin' party or anything, it's my sister's _wedding._" Tommy's hand moves from Adam's shoulder to the side of his neck, thumb swiping just below Adam's ear.

"The odds of it being kept private are ... not good, right?" Adam's smile is rueful. He leans into Tommy's touch. "I hope we didn't ruin your sister's wedding." They haven't moved and they're swaying to the music; they are dancing at Tommy's sister's wedding, Adam's hand pressed to the small of Tommy's back and he smiles, still down at him, but this time it's almost helplessly. God, he's in _love_.

"No way. Nobody's even looking at us." Tommy's helpless to resist Adam's smile, and he grins back, giving Adam's shoulder a brief squeeze. It's dark enough in the reception hall, the dancefloor lit only by coloured lights, and suddenly, Tommy wants Adam to kiss him. Just like he's seen his sister and her new husband, or his cousin and his girlfriend; even his mom and dad. "Nobody's even asked, you know? 'cept I think we're gonna get it when we're done here. I think we should sit after. I'm gonna grab some more wine, you want some?" There's something soft in Tommy's expression, something reflected in the way Adam's looking at him. Not so long ago, it'd started with Adam taking him to a club where it'd been physical and desperate and snatched, and now there's emotion involved. It's good.

_Flash!_ There goes the idea of them not being looked at. An official one for the wedding albums.

_OMGOMG, @adamlambert is at this wedding I'm at! w/bfriend! **twitpic/23443**_. A much less official one that spreads like wildfire.

When the DJ starts to play "Halo," well, Adam tugs Tommy closer and curls himself up a little and presses his nose into Tommy's hair and closes his eyes.

Tommy sighs, wrapping both of his arms around Adam's waist, and it's suddenly clear that this isn't Tommy just being drunk and silly. That he and Adam are _something_, and Tommy's parents look at each other from their spot on the dancefloor. His mother's proud that Tommy can be open with this new part of his life, and his father's a little disgruntled that they're being as open as they are. But such are parents, and Tommy's oblivious to all of it as he breathes in the familiar smell of Adam's skin and cologne, and he lets himself be turned by Adam. Just by turning his head, he can kiss the underside of Adam's jaw, and it feels natural to do it, when his inhibitions are all but gone, thanks to all that wine.

"Careful, baby." Adam's warning is whispered and smiled. "We don't want to get in trouble." Any more than they already are, anyway. When the song ends, he forces himself to stand all the way upright and to let go, even if he doesn't want to. "Should you go be groomsman-like?"

Of course Adam's got the right idea. He's _full_ of right ideas! Tommy makes himself pull back as well, and he smiles crookedly at Adam. "Yeah, I'm gonna go say hi to a bunch of people. Wanna meet me outside in a couple minutes? I could totally go for..." Code word? Something like that? "...a cigarette." Which he totally wouldn't normally do around Adam, because second hand smoke around a singer? Epically uncool.

Totally. Which is why Adam tried smoking and just never got the hang of it. Tommy's crooked smile makes Adam's heart ache, for the record. "Sure." So, Adam tries to be less visible and go get a drink at the bar, but that's not very possible, seeing as it seems like there's a spotlight following him around. Conversations stop and start as he walks by. Yeesh.

Tommy takes as little time as he can doing his rounds, getting nailed for a set of shots with his new brother-in-law and his friends, grabbing another glass of wine to pose with his sister for a few pictures, and then a couple more with his parents. Thank god they don't actually _say_ anything to him, and then he's on his way to find Adam again. Catching his eye, Tommy nods toward the door, and then heads outside where it's cool and fairly quiet but for the other smokers that are out there. So again, he waits for Adam before pulling him around the other side of the building so they can have a little bit of privacy. "I'm real sorry that everyone's all over you. Are you having fun at all? Desserts are coming out again in like, an hour, and then... if you want... we can go?"

"It's fine," Adam tells him with a grin. "I met someone named Tamyra? She was very adamant that I cover 'The Final Countdown,' which just made me feel sorry for her," he admits with a laugh. "But everyone seems _really_ nice." And no, he still hasn't checked his phone, even though it's starting to be a physical pain not to. "Are _you_ having a good time?"

"Oh you _know_ how awesome it'd be if you covered Europe, honestly. My family's pretty cool, even if my sister's friends are lame." What, he's allowed! He's known his sister's friends since he was a teenager and he's entitled to call them lame! Tommy doesn't take out his cigarettes, because he'd rather touch Adam's hair, the plush curve of his mouth, stopping for a second on that freckle on his lower lip. "I'm having a really good time. It's... easier than I thought it would be. Thanks for coming with me." Thanks for being Tommy's date.

"Thanks for inviting me," Adam tells him and his lip tickles from the touch. "And for dancing with me." And for kissing him, which Adam doesn't say, because he's kissing him, hands cradling his jaw. Because Tommy has never once today said "I'm not gay," or freaked out. Because this has been, for all the little oddities, a _really great_ time.

There's no reason that Tommy can think of - right now, at least - that he could say that he's not gay. And weddings freak him out enough that having Adam here with him is barely a blip on the weird-radar; in fact, in another way, it's reassuring to have him here, someone who isn't family, someone that Tommy can hang out with. He'd tell Adam this, but they're kissing, and it makes Tommy feel warm and loose, even further than the wine has made him. His tongue touches at the seam of Adam's mouth, a hand cupped to the side of Adam's face, the other on his hip. It's almost effortless to be hard around Adam, and when Tommy moves up close, Adam can feel it.

It makes Adam smile and slide his hand lower, curving it over Tommy's ass and pulling him close. "Is this a rental?" He asks of the tux. "Do you have to return it?" When can they leave? Adam can't remember what Tommy said. Is now too soon?

"Yeah," Tommy breathes against Adam's ear, warm and wine-scented, and his hips press up against Adam's. "It's a rental and it's gotta go back tomorrow afternoon." He takes Adam's other hand and presses it to the front seam of his tux pants, blatant and _public_, where they could be caught simply by someone coming around the corner. It makes Tommy's breath catch, lips a damp skim against Adam's jaw. He doesn't want to go back in. He wants to leave. Now.

Curling his hand, Adam purrs into Tommy's mouth. This is such a _bad_ idea, which must be why it's so exciting. He gives Tommy's cock a squeeze and sucks on his tongue for a long, hot moment before he forces himself to take a step back. "You said they are going to be serving dessert." And even in the light of one streetlight, Tommy can see the heat in Adam's eyes. Patience, just until they get back to his place.

And when they get back to his place, the first thing to go is that clip-on tie. It skids down the tiles of Adam's foyer floor and Adam tugs at the shirt to pull it from Tommy's pants even as they're walking backwards and up the stairs toward the bedroom. "It was good dessert."

It might have been _great_ dessert, but right now Tommy's more concerned with how Adam tastes, and the jagged ferocity of how much he _wants_ Adam wins the war against the thoughts of how strange it is to just... not _care._ His fingers pick clumsily at the buttons on Adam's shirt, then pull at his tie, then get distracted by the texture of Adam's skin again. "What d'you want me to do?" He pants, teeth nipping at Adam's jaw. "Tell me."

"Keep moving or I'm going to fuck you on the stairs." The words are growled into Tommy's ear. The rented jacket slides all the way to the foyer floor and Adam manages to get one button of Tommy's shirt undone before it's just a matter of trying to pull it over his head. Let's hope that neither of them trips, falls down the stairs and breaks a leg. That would _suck_.

"Oh. _Yeah._" Tommy gets Adam's shirt undone nearly to the navel before he's trying to get the tie over his head and the jacket off, too. On the stairs. _Fuck._ Tommy's fingers shudder against bare skin, and he whispers, "I don't wanna wait. Take me where you want me." One side of his mouth curls up into something that's a hybrid between a smile and a sneer, his skin flushed and pink, eyes heavy and pupils dilated. "What the fuck do you do to me?"

"It's the glitter." Adam laughs and he kisses that sneer. Leaning back, all he needs to do is grab and flip Tommy's teeny hip and he's facing the stairs. Adam leans down, nipping at the knobs of the bones of his spine as he works to get Tommy's belt open and pull down his pants and boxers.

Tommy tumbles forward, palms hitting the stairs in front of him, and suddenly his pants and shorts are around his knees and Adam's all up behind him. What? They're _actually_ going to fuck on the stairs? _Really?_ From the outside, it seems like such a porno thing to do, but Tommy can't bring himself to laugh or to even care. "Yeah," he encourages, not sure what Adam wants _him_ to do, back arching under the bite of Adam's teeth.

They use stairs in porn because of the _angle_, see. All Adam has to do is urge Tommy's legs farther apart and suck on his fingers and start to work him open. The angle totally takes care of the height difference between them and Adam laughs against Tommy's skin.

It makes Tommy's knees give out and it's a goddamn good thing those stairs are there so that Tommy doesn't have to pull away. Fuck, Adam's _fingers._ And his mouth, and the things he says. _Keep moving or I'll fuck you on the stairs._ Just the thought of it, replayed on a loop in Tommy's head, makes him groan, makes him push back against the intrusion and stretch of Adam's fingers. Nice to know that Adam thinks this is funny, jeez. _Jeez._

"You're so fucking sexy," Adam tells him. One finger, then two and with his free hand he starts on his own belt and pants. It's more fun when they're _both_ naked. "Are you still drunk?" Just curious, you know.

"Kinda," Tommy wheezes, hands clenching and unclenching with every push of Adam's fingers. His expletives come out abbreviated further than the four letters they should be, forced out through tight teeth. "F'k. _Fuck._" And because he's still kind of drunk, still a little fuzzy, he doesn't think about what his mouth is saying, and frankly, he doesn't give a flying fuck. "I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me right here. Mmh." His toes curl, and the repetition of sound comes out more desperate. "_Mmh._"

"That's the plan, yeah." Pants down around his knees, Adam wishes for lube. Spontaneity for the fail in this case. Spit it is. Which isn't exactly sexy, but it does the job and he can lift his knee up a step and hold himself by the base and watch as he pushes in. "Oh, _fuck_," he groans. "Yeah."

Tommy's eyes roll back in his head and he bites his lower lip to stifle the sound he wants to make, pushed out of him by the length of Adam's cock, kind of like a slide whistle, and that's a _really_ fucked up comparison to make right now. The heels of his hands dig against Adam's stairs as he pushes back, and it's not exactly slick and easy like it normally is. It's _tight_ and _hot_ with a lot of drag, and Tommy grinds his teeth against it.

"Fuck," Adam says by way of agreeing and he keeps his hips moving, keeps rocking forward in small increments and yeah, the drag is almost too much, but that's what makes it so _good_, threatening to make _Adam's_ eyes roll back. "Fuck, your _ass_ \- !"

"Isn't that what you're doing already?" Tommy gasps, repositioning his hands so he can push back against Adam, making their bodies smack together sharp enough that Tommy lets out a loud cry. Fuck, he's probably messing up Adam's stair, feeling the way his cock bumps against the runner that goes up the stairs, friction that's sharp and _so_ textured that it's almost too much.

It's eased eventually when Adam's precome kind of slicks the way, at least a little. He digs his fingers into the bones of Tommy's hips and he lets himself _move_ like his body wants, hips rolling. He bites down on his lower lip. So _good_.

"Holy _shit_, I just- I want-" Now Tommy's pushing back as hard as he can, feeling the momentary bump of Adam's cock against his prostate before he's in _deep_, and wasn't Tommy trying to talk? Honestly. Words, Tommy Joe Ratliff, you know how to make them! "I wanna jerk off. Tell me I fuckin' can. I wanna _come._" His back arches up against Adam's chest, head turning just a little, as if looking for a kiss and only finding the completely wrong angle, instead.

He does get Adam's arm tight around his chest, though, holding him up close and tight. Score another benefit for the stairs! Adam's already nodding, whispering hot in his ear. "Jerk yourself off. Want you to come. Wanna _feel_ it."

Tommy whines, grabbing one of Adam's hands and pulling it down so he can feel the way Tommy strokes himself, a quick, twisted jerk of his hand that has him clenching up around Adam in a rhythm that matches the Godzilla-stomp of deep, crushing pleasure. "I'm. I'm. _I'm._" Whatever it is that Tommy's trying to say, it should really end in something like 'gonna to mess up your stairs', because he comes, panting harshly, one hand splayed on the wall beside him and the other laced with Adam's around his cock.

"Oh, _Shit_!" And Adam isn't really that far behind. He pulls Tommy back on him maybe five more times and he's coming too and it feels _amazing_. As it washes over him, he holds Tommy as tight as he can, breathing words in his ear like "Oh, God, yes. God, fuck, yes, _Tommy_."

Tommy's hips still push back against Adam's, and he feels _crazy_ sensitive, but he wants to prolong that feeling, that sensation of Adam coming in him that he's just starting to get used to, just starting to _like_, and he groans out a soft sound, chin tucked down between his collarbones, and his hand slides off the wall to land on Adam's hip. "Holy. Holy jeez."

"Holy jeez," Adam repeats and that is ... it's ... oh, God, it's the funniest thing _ever_ and he's helpless but to laugh and laugh and laugh at it. Of course, the jostling kind of forces the issue and he has to pull out. "Holy jeez. Oh, shit, I love you. Tommy Joe Ratliff, I just ... I love you."

Adam's laugh makes Tommy laugh, shaky and loose, and he sort of slithers forward onto his elbows on the stairs. Still half-panting, Tommy looks over his shoulder at Adam. "You know how it feels to hear you say that?"

Lying on his side, the edges of the stairs digging into his hip and his ribs and his arm, pants still around his ankles, Adam asks, quieting, "how does it feel?"

"Like..." Tommy has to think about it for a moment to find the right descriptors when his brain still feels fuzzy and spun out. "It makes me feel... really good. Like, kinda in ways that I didn't know I could feel good." Tommy moves carefully when he turns on his hip, and hi, oops, there's come on Adam's carpet runner thingmabob. He can clean that up later. "'cause I really... I really love you too."

~~

Later turns out to the be late the next morning and really, Adam was going to clean up the spot, because yeah, he doesn't need the cleaning service doing that, not really, but he gets waylaid and is sitting on the stairs in sweatpants and crazy hair and he's staring at his phone with equal amounts of horror and fascination. He'd left Tommy passed out in bed, still, but, honestly, he should probably be awake for this.

There is _video_, dark and grainy, of them making out outside the reception hall. "_Shit_," he whispers. Really now, they have totally and completely ruined Sadie's wedding. "Oh, my God," Adam exclaims on the staircase all by himself. "_That's_ her name! Sadie!"


End file.
